Drunk (When I Wake Up)
by drarry.on
Summary: Set six months after the war. Harry Potter has a problem. Draco doesn't care, it's not his problem. Except he does, and it is. Eventual slash HP/DM.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Drunk (When I Wake Up)

**Summary:** Harry Potter has a problem. Draco doesn't _care_, it's not _his_ problem.. Except he does, and it is.

**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns these beautiful beings, I merely own the plot.

**A/N :** This fic was inspired by Ed Sheeran's song 'Drunk', more the later chapters though. It starts a bit slowly.. but give it a chance to heat up, it definitely will! I'm aiming to update at least once a week, if not more. Enjoy and review!

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The war had been over for six months. Six long months of trials, of waiting, hoping against all hope that he would be okay, that his family would be okay, well, his mother at least. Finally, there had been more waiting. Shuffling between his Azkaban cell and the courtroom, and back again. And now he was free. _Free._ Draco Malfoy stood in Diagon Alley with his mother by his side and his eyes shut, feeling the wind gently pulling at his blonde hair, which now fell past his chin. It had been six months since he had felt the wind in his hair. Had it always felt this good, he wondered, this carefree? He wanted to dance into the tiny raindrops that were starting to fall around them, wanted to tear off all his clothes and just _feel_ all the elements on his bare skin. Even the pale sunlight struggling through gaps in the clouds seemed like a miracle, he'd almost forgotten what the sun looked like. But he just stood there, concentrating on keeping his composure. He _was_ a Malfoy after all.

"Draco?" His mother's voice was soft, gentle and reminiscent of the tones he remembered from childhood. He turned to face her, a ghost of a smile on her lovely face. Her too thin, too pale, too weary, but lovely nonetheless face. The first real smile Draco had seen from her since his fifth year at Hogwarts. He smiled back, the expression feeling unfamiliar, too tight, on his own features after so much time spent with nothing to smile about and she put her hand on his arm, drawing him closer to her.

"Let's go home, son."

Draco leaned into her, breathing in her smell of musky vanilla and peach, and they disapparated with a sharp crack, leaving the street empty save the pages of yesterday's Prophet blowing lazily up against the shop fronts. The front page covered in a photograph captured the moment that Harry Potter, current saviour of the wizarding world, had stood up to testify on behalf of Draco Malfoy, former –alleged- death eater. The photo showed the utter shock clearly etched on Draco's face giving way to disbelief as he swung around to face the Wizengamot in bewilderment and tried to duck out of the frame of the photograph. Harry Potter looked drawn and nervous, though his face was a picture of open virtuousness, practically radiating honesty.

They had no idea that this moment, now forever preserved in their memories had been witnessed by another; who nodded once in satisfaction and then too, apparated from the scene.


	2. Flashbacks and Panic Attacks

Draco and Narcissa had been back in the manor all of five minutes before they had both come to the realisation that they could no longer live there. The rooms they had once called home now seemed dark no matter how much light streamed in through the windows, and sinister memories lurked and hid away in every corner and crack like spiders lying in webs awaiting their prey.

The first night back Draco had crept into his mother's bed like he had when he had been a small child. Only now there was no Lucius to lead him back to his own room whilst lecturing about how Malfoys didn't display behaviour like that, leaving him alone again in the dark. The last time he had tried to go to his mother in the night he had been five. That night, at seventeen, he curled under the covers next to her, and she smoothed his hair away from his forehead and stroked his cheek until he fell asleep.

The first day at breakfast Narcissa had announced she had found a lovely cottage on the Cornish coast, and never one to waste time, she had already agreed a price on it. She had apparated Draco to it, and he had agreed it was charming. Tucked away along a windy coastal path it was made of light grey stone and the front was covered in honeysuckle, it couldn't have been more different in appearance from the imposing manor. It was a lot smaller, but they had never needed all that space anyway. Two en-suite bedrooms, a third bathroom, living room, kitchen, dining room and study were more than enough. And that wasn't counting the conservatory at the back, as well as the little room the muggle estate agent had proclaimed to be a 'nook'.

Draco liked the nook, and asked if that could be his space, along with his room. He stood in it now, gazing out of the window at the view of the rolling countryside meeting the sea. It was.. peaceful. He couldn't remember the last time that he had thought of anything as being peaceful. He stared and stared at the sea, suddenly wanting to be closer to it, engulfed by it. The sheer vastness of it curled up into him, making him feel small, reminding him that there were things out there so much bigger than himself. He turned away abruptly, feeling slightly unsettled. The wall to the left of the window had an archway cut into it, with a bookcase at the back and a curious bench thing cutting it in the middle. Cautiously Draco tugged on the edge of it and it opened upwards. He had to admit muggles could be quite clever sometimes. Though only _sometimes_.

That night Draco awoke suddenly, sweating, from a nightmare where his entire body was being engulfed by flames, all he could hear was manic laughter and he was reaching, reaching, reaching, for something, green. But it was just too far, his hand kept closing on nothing, then he was falling further down into the fire. Bolting upright and gasping for breath he forced himself back into the present. His skin was too hot, his chest was too tight and his eyes burned with tears he wouldn't allow to fall. He crept along the hall and into his mother's bed again.

"Oh, my baby, my precious son. It's okay. It's all okay, now, your mother's here." He couldn't stop his body from shaking but his mother's voice cut through the dark. Her familiar scent and love enveloping him and it wasn't long before his breathing had slowed and evened out.

The second day was spent sorting through their belongings. Neither Narcissa nor Draco wanted to spend a minute longer here than they absolutely had to, and they worked quickly, almost silently either shrinking things to a portable size or marking them for sale. Narcissa had decided that the sale of the manor would be split three ways between herself, her son and her husband currently incarcerated in Azkaban. Even though he had made some costly mistakes, she still loved him dearly. And Merlin knew that in the last two years of the war Lucius had already paid a heavy price.

"He wasn't always a bad man, Draco." Her voice had echoed out into the cold room. "Proud, self-indulgent, easily led, yes. But not bad, not truly. His arrogance and prejudice about blood status was ingrained in him. He got himself, got us all, in too deep, and then couldn't escape." She sighed heavily. Lucius had wanted out, but there had been no way for their family to survive defecting, they would have been hunted down and killed mercilessly, most likely by her own sister. Until right at the last minute, and they had all grabbed that chance. Draco was privately less forgiving of his father's deeds, but then he wasn't married to the man. All the profits from their possessions were to go to charities aiding victims of the war, from both sides.

He didn't even attempt to sleep in his own bed that night.

The third day, Narcissa had to go to the Ministry to attend to the legalities of selling their property and to oversee what charities their money would go to. She swept into the great living room; her blonde hair swept up and pinned back, dressed in sky blue robes the exact same shade as her eyes. Draco hadn't bothered changing out of the black silk pyjama bottoms and grey V-neck t-shirt that he had slept in.

"Draco, I'll only be away as long as I need to be." And with that she kissed him on the cheek and stepped into the fireplace. Casting him one last sympathetic glance at having to be alone in the manor she drew herself up to her full height, threw the floo powder down and disappeared in a sea of green flames. And then he was alone. His eyes slipped to the grand mahogany table that Voldemort had used as his board room and he shuddered. It had been in the Black family for years, and it was the first thing his mother had marked to get rid of.

After ten minutes it felt like the manor was engulfing him, he was getting swept up in a deluge of memories. Of hatred, madness and red glowing eyes. He escaped to the kitchen, the one room he had never seen, seen, well, you-know-who, in -_Voldemort_ , his subconscious hissed ferociously to himself- and sat at the table with his head in his hands right on the verge of a panic attack.

_This kind of behaviour is unbecoming of a Malfoy_. His own thought ghosted into his father's voice and Draco nearly lost it completely. Think of something else, anything else, he silently begged himself, willing the terror away. His heart was hammering underneath his ribcage, he could feel the pounding of his blood in his ears and it felt like he couldn't breathe.

He started to desperately flip through his memories, searching for a positive one to focus on. Nothing was working. His chest was too tight, he was going to die. Oh God, oh God, oh God, was the mantra running through his mind. He pressed his hands as hard as he could into his eyes and the colour green exploded behind his closed eyelids. His panicked mind turned this into a vision of Harry Potter. His eyes meeting, and holding Draco's as he took the stand at Draco's trial. Green.. Green meant, _hope_. His shuddering attempts at breathing eased fractionally and he allowed himself to sink into the memory.

_The flashes from the court cameras were blinding him from every angle as Harry Potter stepped up to take the stand. He could feel the shocked expression flooding his face as he swung wildly around to the Wizengamot, their faces carefully blank. He tried to duck out of the way of the lights and his eyes fixed on Harry Potter's, who held his gaze steadily. The other boy's green eyes were slightly defiant, but barely held in the nervousness that the rest of his body betrayed._

_The court quietened and Potter's eyes left his as he was sworn in, three drops of veritaserum dropped on to his tongue, as had become customary for every single person speaking at each trial. There was no room for error in these sentences, not even for the saviour himself. Despite already being shackled tightly to it, Draco gripped the arms of his chair severely, almost painfully, his eyes never leaving Potter. This boy that he had once hated, no, not hated, it had come close, but had never really been true hatred, not really. Potter's rejection of his childhood friendship had hurt him, yes. And he had endeavoured to make the other suffer for his loss of face at having his hand left grasping empty air as a first year, but he never had been able to truly hate the boy, despite the appearances he had kept up. Now Harry Potter was speaking, and the entire room hung on his every word, reporters' quills scratching across parchment was the only other sound to be heard._

_"Draco Malfoy saved my life." He said simply. Potter's voice, and expression, was earnest. "When he failed to identify me in Malfoy manor, he saved the entire Wizarding world. And I have no doubt that he knew exactly who I was." He was right, Draco had known, and in that split second when Bellatrix had pushed him towards the other boy, he had decided to tell the outright lie that he couldn't be sure. "When he lied for me, he gave me a chance to escape." Potter continued, taking a breath, "Whilst that might be the only way he outright hindered Voldemort's plans, I truly believe that he never once directly helped him. He lied to save my life, just as his mother would later do, and in those actions they proved that they had never truly been in Voldemort's service, despite was Lucius Malfoy may, or may not have wanted."_

_Draco swallowed convulsively. News of his father's sentencing had reached him even in his cell. In spite of being able to prove under veritaserum that he had not played a voluntary part in Voldemort's plans during the last two years, he still had to answer for his actions before then. Draco agreed, though he would never admit it outside of his own head._

_"This young man he sits before us now had his life mapped out for him before he was even born." Potter was continuing, "Much like myself, many of his choices were not choices at all. Decisions were taken out of his hands. He never really wanted to be on that side of the war, I'm sure of it." The last part of this sentence was barely a whisper. "He deserves this chance to walk out of here, and to be able to make his own choices, to decide the rest of his life. He was never a Death Eater. And I hope that _you_ make the right decision today." Potter was finished and couldn't have left the stand, and the room faster. He didn't meet Draco's eyes again._

_The courtroom erupted into a whirlwind of noise and Draco was barely aware of how much time passed before the head of the Wizengamot stood._

_"No charges. The defendant Draco Lucius Malfoy is free to go with a clear name." His head spun fiercely as his magical restraints were lifted. _Free to go_. He got shakily to his feet as his mother appeared from the back of the courtroom, grabbing him tightly into an embrace, an uncharacteristic show of public emotion. It was over. They were both free._

Draco came back to the present, the vice like grip on his chest loosened and his heart rate coming back to normal. He huffed out a great breath of air and slowly removed the heels of his hands from his eyes, dully registering the pain he'd been causing himself. He became aware of a presence in the room and turned his head to meet the wide eyed stare of a house elf.

"Ma-master Draco," it began uncertainly, "There is, there is a visitor." He frowned, had he really been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't felt the shift of the wards? He couldn't allow that to happen again. He couldn't find any words so just nodded at the elf to continue.

"Master Draco, there is being a Mister Harry Potter to see you."


	3. Potter and Peacocks

**A/N - **So here's the second chapter.. this little bugger was hard to write because Harry just kept throwing in his own ideas about how it should go. Cretin. Anyway, it's un-beta'd so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes. Do let me know if you see any and I'll correct them.

Thank you to **drarryisgreen** for reviewing! I love reviews, and as such, will take any. Tell me what's good, what could be better =) Anyway, I digress. Enjoy!

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_"Master Draco, there is being a Mister Harry Potter to see you."_

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Draco was stunned. This revelation certainly didn't help his sudden lack of verbal skills. He stared at the elf as if it were mistaken.

"Harry Potter? Here?" He finally managed.

"Yes. Sir." The little creature squeaked and trembled with fear. "What is it you want Coby to be doing? Sir." Draco shook his head violently, as if that would clear it and then rose to his feet.

"Where is he?" The elf was practically convulsing now.

"He is, he is being at the front door, Master Draco." Despite his father's views on how to treat the 'help', he didn't want the thing to die of fright in front of him, so Draco thanked it and dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Harry Potter, at my door. What the _fuck_. Much like he had watched his mother do earlier, Draco drew himself up to his full height and carefully schooled his features into a neutral expression. It was fine. It was just Harry Potter. His school rival.

The boy he had exchanged insults, hexes, and occasionally, physical blows with for the past six years. The boy he had then let escape from this very house, and who had, in turn saved him from certain death in the fiendfyre ridden room of requirement. The boy who had, not quite three days ago, saved him from a certain sentence in Azkaban proper, and ended his sixth month imprisonment in the dank, freezing holding cells at the Ministry. _Fuck_.

There was definitely no love lost between the two, but ever since Potter had rejected his hand in friendship before their sorting ceremony he'd always known exactly where he stood with the other boy. But then he had shown up at his trial, and defied all of Draco's previous expectations. Now he had absolutely no idea where he stood, but he would rather play hide and seek with dementors than let Potter see that he was unsettled by his sudden appearance at his house. Reaching up to run a hand through his hair he breathed in deeply to steel his nerves that had barely recovered from his panic attack and started for the front door.

As he stalked through the cold halls of his once home, he realised he was fast approaching the point where he'd actually have to talk to Potter. And as he had absolutely no idea why the boy was here, he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. Draco reached the front hall altogether too quickly, and paused for a beat before opening the heavy doors, cursing the fact that he had to do it without magic. Potter whirled around from where he had been glaring at the peacocks scattered innocently around the drive, which seemed to be eyeing the boy up, his face not looking too far away from a deer in the headlights.

"Potter." He was pleased to note that the drawl in his voice sounded familiar enough to his own ears. Potter flushed slightly, then seemed to gain some, if not all of his composure.

"Malfoy." He responded. "Er, lovely peacocks. Really, lovely." Draco smirked. The birds had been known to be a tiny bit territorial. And then neither of them said anything for much too long of a time, merely stared at each other. Potter appeared to have grown since they'd last been stood face to face like this, although Draco was pleased to note that still had a couple of inches on him. Draco knew he should say something, maybe even invite the boy in, but the words didn't seem to be coming. Potter shuffled his feet, cleared his throat and muttered, "Well, this is awkward."

And then to the complete surprise of both of them, he laughed. Draco couldn't possibly imagine what was so funny, and Harry was surprised because it was the first time he had laughed, really laughed since the final battle. When he was quite finished, he removed his glasses and swiped at the tears that had gathered at the sides of his eyes before replacing them and glancing searchingly at Draco. Draco himself had held his brief amusement at the situation in check and kept his face impassive.

When he seemed to find nothing, his gaze wandered down to Draco's arm, and he became aware that clad as he was in his grey t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, his dark mark was uncovered and out for the world to see. He grabbed at it with his right hand self-consciously, and could feel a slight flush working its way over his body before he could stop it.

But Potter surprised him once more by ignoring the mark and his gesture towards it completely and cleared his throat again.

"I guess, you must be wondering why, why I'm here.." He stuttered a little in his rush to get the words out in a way that Draco found to be slightly endearing. He mentally shook his head to dispel the notion that he found _anything_ about Harry Potter endearing and pursed his lips.

"Yes, very observant of you, Potter." He fought to keep any hint of emotion from his voice, and found that he succeeded as he heard the icy tone coming from his lips. Potter bit his bottom lip and flung his dark hair out his eyes, betraying his nerves at the current situation, and Draco just stood there and slowly raised an eyebrow. He'd be damned if he was going to make this easy, he had no idea what stupid Potter was doing on his doorstep.

"I er, I.. er.." The boy worried his bottom lip a bit more. "I realised, that is to say, I found that, I.. Oh fuck it. Here. I thought you might want this." And he thrust a box out towards Draco. Who looked down his nose suspiciously at it, noticing the barely imperceptible tremble of the hand holding it. "Well go on then. Take it." Potter seemed to have regained the last bit of his composure now that the intentions of his visit have been revealed and all but flung the package at Draco's chest.

Draco clutched at the item inelegantly to prevent it from clattering to the ground, an annoyed little sound escaping from the back of his throat at being made to look clumsy by Potter of all people.

"Well?" Draco stole a look at the other boy, who was shuffling around and blinking owlishly behind those horrendous glasses, looking altogether too eager for one who is standing in front of a boy they supposedly hate, at a place where he was once captured and stuck in the dungeons. Draco huffed some air out through his nose and stared down at the box.

He briefly wondered if the contents were hexed, or the box set to explode upon being opened, but his natural curiosity got the better of him and he found himself cautiously opening the lid. And then he really was lost for words. He knew that he mouth had dropped open, but he really didn't care. There, staring up at him was ten inches of Hawthorn. He blinked and lifted it out, letting the box carelessly clatter to the ground unceremoniously. He gave it an experimental twirl and felt his magic awaken and hum across his skin. Before he knew it, Harry Potter was smiling at him, positively beaming in fact, and he felt the corners of his own lips quirking upwards until he remembered himself and forced his lips into a thin line.

"I don't know what to say." He admitted before he could stop himself clutching his wand tightly in his hands. _His wand_. He hadn't thought he'd ever hold it in his hands again. The other boy's smile seemed to grow impossibly wider, and Draco couldn't quite believe that the expression was for him. "I er, thank you." The unfamiliar words of gratitude felt peculiar on his lips.

"I.. oh. That's alright." Potter muttered, seemingly as thrown to be on the receiving end of the thanks as Draco felt to utter them. The awkward silence descended up them again. Draco stared down at his wand. Why had Potter given his wand back? Why had he come all the way to the manor to do it himself? Draco stole a look at the other boy who had his bottom lip between his teeth again and was glancing uneasily at the white peacocks as if he was expecting them to rush him at any moment, in all fairness if Draco removed his presence from the scene they probably would. Draco found himself wondering how his lip was so smooth and unblemished if it was, and it seemed that it was, always being chewed on like that. This unexpected turn of thoughts sobers him and he halted them immediately.

"Is that all then, Potter?" The words themselves were cold enough, but they lacked any of his previous bite and the boy seemed to notice this, his smile lowering in intensity but remaining present.

"No, as it happens, I um, I also wanted to let you know that Hogwarts, that is, the er, rebuilding of it, is starting now that all the trials are over. Starts next week, in fact. And, well, you'd be welcome to um, be there. You know. If you wanted to, help. I mean, I think it would be good for you." Draco was startled.

"What?" Draco was thrown again. "Why do you care what's good for me?" He frowned. His mouth seemed to be saying a lot of things without his permission this morning.

"You'll have to excuse my son's ill manners, Mister Potter." His mother's refined voice startled him further as she placed a hand on the small of his back; he really needed to start paying more attention to his surroundings. He scowled. At least Potter seemed just as stunned at her sudden appearance. "You see," she continued, "There's not been much call for etiquette in these past months, please forgive him."

Draco's expression soured further. This entire situation was ridiculous, and he suddenly wished that he had bothered to get dressed that morning, his attire was doing nothing to help his position, stuck as he was between his mother's immaculate dress robes and Potter's, well. The boy was fully clothed at least, even if he was still scruffy and his hair looked as if he had crawled through the undergrowth to get to the front door rather than walked up the drive.

"Oh, do look at that, he's brought your wand, Draco darling. Marvellous, how lovely, have you thanked him? And what are you both doing standing out here? Do come in, Mister Potter, would you care for some tea?" His mother finally extended the invitation that Draco hadn't quite managed.

"Oh." Potter sounds as if he hadn't even considered the notion of going inside the manor. "Thanks, Mrs. Malfoy, but I suppose I should be going in a moment."

"Please call me Narcissa, Mister Potter. I do feel you have earned that privilege."

"Oh, right then, Narcissa. Thank you. And you too. I mean, you can call me Harry. Please." Potter was floundering, now more unsure of himself than ever. Quite right, Draco thought, coming here unannounced, full of, good intention and all that. "Right well, I was just inviting Malfoy, well, you both I suppose, to come and er, be at the reconstruction of Hogwarts."

So ineloquent, Draco's subconscious snarled, but as he opened his mouth to reply, his mother cut him off smoothly.

"I'm sure we'd both be honoured to be involved in any way we can be of assistance, wouldn't we, Draco." It was not a question and Draco merely sniffed to acknowledge her words.

"Right, well. That would be, good. I'll send an owl with the details then, shall I? Thanks, er, Mrs. Mal.. um, Narcissa. And er, Malfoy. I'll be seeing you, then." And then he stuck his hand out.

Draco stared at it, painfully reminded of the fact that the last time he'd done that, it was to grab Draco out of the fiendfyre. And sure enough, there were shimmering light scars across his knuckles that perfectly matched the ones from the burns Draco himself had suffered. Shocked by the realisation and the memory, Draco didn't move until his mother nudged him none too gently between the shoulder blades and he was forced forward into accepting the outstretched hand.

Potter's grip was firm, and his skin was soft and warm, and why the fuck was he thinking things like that? Alarmed, Draco dropped his hand and shuffled backwards.

"Good bye, Harry." His mother's voice actually sounded, warm. Draco gaped. And with that, Potter took off down the drive towards the gates with astonishing speed, sidestepping with what could only be described as a skip when one of the peacocks made to peck at his ankles.

"Stupid bloody birds." His voice carried back on the wind and Draco supressed a laugh. His mother did laugh as she stepped back into the hall.

"What a lovely young man he has turned into. Come, Draco. Let's have tea and you can tell me all about your visitor and how he came to be here. Coby?" She called to the elf who had announced Potter's arrival to him what now seemed like hours earlier. The elf appeared with a pop, already bowing low. "Draco and I will take tea in the parlour. Darjeeling, if you please."

"Certainly Mistress Narcissa, Coby will be bringing it right away." And then he disappeared as quickly as he had come.

"Darjeeling really is the champagne of teas." His mother mused aloud as she receded into the house.

Draco just trailed after her in silence, wondering what on earth had possessed Potter to just start swooping in and being nice and to save him time and again. What indeed.


	4. Socks and Heart to Hearts

**A/N -** This one just rushed out of me, so, seeing as it's done I decided to upload it straight away =) It's a bit shorter than the last and once again, this is unbeta'd, so sorry for any mistakes. Thank you once again to **drarryisgreen** for reviewing - I love snark too! You can't write Draco without it, that's like, having scones without tea. True story. Thank you also to everyone else who has read and added this story to their alerts, it means a lot to me. This is the first larger-scale fic I've ever written! Please, if you're enjoying it, just take a quick second to let me know why, let me know what could be improved and even what you want to see within the story.. you never know it might work it's way in!

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That night Draco awoke from a world of heat and flames in his mother's bed, grabbing tightly to the scarred knuckles of his right hand, which were throbbing hotly. He was alone, and the covers next to him had been smoothed down. He shook the vestige of his nightmare from himself and pulled himself upright a thrill of fear racing down his spine. Where was his mother?

"Mother?" His voice sounded uncertain. "Mumma?" It came out in a childish whisper as he threw back his covers and lowered his bare feet to the cold floorboards. He padded softly across the room and pushed open the door to his parents' adjoining sitting room. His mother was sat on the window seat, her pyjama clad legs curled underneath her, staring wistfully out across the grounds she had tended since before Draco had been born. She looked so, small, Draco thought, so fragile. He'd never thought of his mother in that way before. She had always been loving, yes, but that had been overshadowed by his father's discipline and her imposing socialite demeanour in public.

He stopped in the doorway, hand still aching with the heat of his dream and just watched. The moonlight streaming through the open window made the heavy cream curtains and his mother's hair look silver. She was softly threading the ends of her hair over and through her fingers in a flowing repetitive motion, much like she did to Draco's when she was soothing him. He shuffled his feet quietly but the movement caught her attention and drew her focus to the doorway.

"Draco? What's wrong darling? That dream again?" He just nodded, not trusting his voice in that moment. "Oh, my darling boy." She sighed heavily and extended a slender arm towards him. He hovered uncertainly before going to perch on the window seat opposite her. She drew his right hand into her own, brushing her fingers over his scars. "This isn't the life I wanted for my child." The words seemed to be more for herself than for Draco and he just sat mutely, looking out at the rose garden he knew she had planted when he was a baby; every different combination planted holding a meaning within the mix of colours.

"I miss your father." Draco looked up sharply. She was staring down at their hands. She looked old and young at the same time and her delicate eyebrows were drawn together in a slight frown. "This isn't how life was supposed to be, Draco. Believe it or not, your father was once young, and idealistic.. Slightly rebellious. Not that I expect you'll believe that." She laughed and continued softly, "That's the man I fell in love with. The man, who followed me around Hogwarts relentlessly, taught me that flowers had meanings, spouted _ridiculous_ Shakespearean quotes and sonnets at me." She laughed harder at Draco's incredulous expression.

"My father.. _muggle poetry_?" He was finding it difficult to reconcile this new image of his father with the man he had grown up with.

"Yes, my precious boy." She smiled regretfully. "I know he was hard on you whilst you were growing up, Draco. But that's the way that he was brought up, that's the only way he knew. And you found your own little, rebellions and, _dalliances_, shall we say." She raised an eyebrow and despite himself Draco felt a smirk raise the corners of his lips. There were a number of incidents to which his mother could be referring. He wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Listen, there's some things I want you to know, things you _should_ know." She drew in a deep breath and pressed her lips together briefly before continuing. "When the Dark Lord first rose, your father was planning on marrying me, and whisking us both away to France, out of the line of fire, if you will. But his father had other ideas. You see, the Dark Lord, drew in his first ranks with the promise of wealth and power and status, promises of cleansing and purifying their bloodlines, all the things that the old pureblood families value the most. At first, there was never even a hint about harming the half-bloods, or the muggleborns, or the use of dark magic. Merely the preservation of the pureblood lines.

"Abraxas, Merlin rest his soul, was drawn in, captivated by this, this powerful wizard, with his promises and charisma. And he promised the service of his son in the place of his own declining health. And Lucius obeyed his father's wishes, because he always had. By the time the true intentions were revealed, your father was already too deeply ingrained. It was serve, or forfeit his life. Forfeit my life." She stopped and studied Draco's face seriously.

"When the Dark Lord fell the first time, we thought we had been granted a reprieve. It felt like we could breathe again. You were just a baby, untouched as yet by the path our lives had taken. But it soon became apparent that all was not as it seemed. As the years passed your father grew harsher, I became more withdrawn. We were steeling ourselves for his inevitable return, what it would mean for us, for you. In his own way, your father was trying to prepare you for what seemed inescapable.. That you would follow him into the service of the Dark Lord, or be deemed of no use and executed."

Unshed tears glimmered for a moment in his mother's pale eyes before being hastily swept away.

"Being around all that dark magic, being forced to use it, blackened your father's heart, his mind, Draco. But you have to understand, that the man I love, is in there somewhere. Should he have to account for his actions? Definitely, unequivocally. But what is important to understand, is that he was already repenting long before his sentence in Azkaban. All I can ask of you is to keep that in your mind when you think of him." Draco watched as his mother's eyes wandered once more out and across the immaculate grounds spread out under the window. "And that brings me to the real point of my tirade." She laughed, and Draco smiled softly.

"Your father never had a choice, my darling boy. But you do. Harry Potter was right when he spoke at your trial. Until this point, your choices have been predetermined. But now, this life, it's yours. And I would never wish you unhappiness. I know you've grown up believing a lot of things, not least that you would be forced into a pureblood union, to produce an heir. But you won't be."

"What?" Oh yes, brilliant response, well done, he admonished himself silently, one mention of stupid Potter and he was completely thrown. But his mother just smiled gently at him.

"Yes, Draco. There are a lot of prejudices and beliefs that it would do you good to let go of. And, well, marriage to a pureblood _witch_, may well be one of them." His mother's intonation of the word 'witch' did not go unnoticed by Draco and his hands flexed involuntarily.

"How did you know?" Came his whisper. And his mother really did laugh then.

"Oh come now, Draco. I'm your mother. How could I not, I probably knew before you yourself did. Now. That's quite enough of that. It's late and I want to relocate my rose garden tomorrow." She rose gracefully to her feet and motioned for him to follow her. Draco stumbled to his own, one of his feet had gone to sleep and his mind was reeling with his mother's reference to his sexual preferences. He curled his toes a couple of times and stamped his foot against the floor, the blood rushing back in with painful tingles.

"Anything that you'd like to do?" The question floated over his mother's shoulder as she reached to smooth out the bedcovers, a quick unconscious, compulsive gesture that probably explained more about some of Draco's behaviours than words ever could. Draco's reply was quick, his idea - one final, fuck you, to his father.

"I want to free the house elves." He paused, stifling a yawn, his mind flitting back to the end of his second year when the news of what had become of Dobby had reached him. "With socks."


	5. Shakespeare and Smaug

**A/N -** Okay, so this is the last slow chapter I promise! Much more action hereafter! Thank you to everyone who has added this story to their alerts, and to my favourite little reviewer; **drarryisgreen** =) Anyway. Still completely un-beta'd, so apologies for any errors I didn't catch on my read-throughs.

If you like it, please let me know! Reviews feed my soul and fill my tea cups with joy.

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**Chapter Four**

Draco spent most of breakfast levitating sugar lumps around the room and transfiguring anything in sight into a sock, delighted at both having his wand back in his possession and the prospect of what he would be using the socks for. His mother, for her part, studiously ignored his antics choosing to keep her head buried in the Prophet instead. That is, until one of Draco's whizzing lumps of sugar smacked into the side of her head and dropped into her tea cup with a small plop. He lowered his wand at once, placing it slowly and carefully onto the table, stilling the remaining sugar, and suspending them frozen in the air.

Narcissa folded the paper and put it gently to one side before bringing her gaze to Draco and slowly arching an eyebrow, drawing her wand out of her sleeve.

"I apologise."

"Quite."

Draco looked down, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. His mother vanished her ruined cup of tea with a practiced flick and placed her wand next to Draco's. She tapped her immaculate fingernails against the table a couple of times, and when Draco looked up there was a trace of a smirk on her face.

"Well, seeing as you seem barely able to, conceal, your enthusiasm for our morning task I suppose we should begin." Now it was Draco's turn to lift an eyebrow and smirk.

Narcissa summoned the house elves to the breakfast room and they now anxiously stood, dressed in spare scraps of velvet curtains and old unwanted, but still expensive, bed covers, all eleven of them, in a small semi-circle at the head of the table. One of the creatures was practically vibrating with nerves, and another already had its long ears pinched harshly between its spindly fingers.

"Mistress Narcissa," began another uncertainly, "Has we been doing something, t-that is making you to b-being displeased?" Narcissa smiled warmly at the elf.

"No, Suki, not at all. As you are all aware the manor is up for sale, and we are moving to a much smaller property. As such, your services will no longer be required by the Malfoy family." The house elves exchanged glances with each other, a couple perking up, most still looking apprehensive and one almost distraught. "Draco?"

Draco smiled gleefully, and with a swish and flick of his wand sent his transfigured socks up into the air above the elves' heads. The socks hovered for a moment before Draco released them to descend in a flurry. With squeaks and squeals and 'thanks you, Mistress Narcissa' and 'so grateful, Master Draco's' the socks were snatched and grabbed from the air. With pops and cracks the beaming elves started to disappear as their bonds tying them to servitude were broken, a few daring to impose brief hugs on either Draco or his mother.

All too soon it was over; the house elves had all departed. Just one odd sock lay on the floor betraying what had just happened. Draco caught his mother's eye, and they both burst into laughter. Eventually, the laughs died away, and Draco sat heavily on his empty chair clutching his sides and wiping away his tears of mirth. He finally felt lighter. Whoever it was that said laughter is the best medicine was definitely right. He moved his feet under the table, and met with something solid.

A surprised squeak had him sticking his head under the table and he found an elf, huddled in on itself. When it saw it had been discovered its eyes widened in fear and it scuttled out and attached itself to his mother's legs.

"P-please. M-Mistress Narcissa. Coby is not wanting clothes." It wailed, tears and snot streaming down its distressed face. "Coby is being with the family for years. Coby is not wanting clothes. Coby is _not _wanting_ clothes_!"

"Okay Coby." She said patting his head. "You may come with us to the cottage. I suppose having an elf there would be useful." Coby peered up his long nose at her cautiously.

"You, you is still wanting Coby? Oh, Coby will be useful. Very useful. Coby promises." The thing brightened considerably and relinquishing his hold on her skirt. "What can Coby be doing for Mistress Narcissa?" His big blue eyes shone up at her unblinkingly.

"If you could start transporting the items marked for the new house that would be extremely helpful, Coby. Thank you."

"Right away, Mistress Narcissa." And with a pop the elf left to attend to his task.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day that a house elf would willingly want to serve our family." Draco drawled.

"Hmm. Yes." His mother replied. "Circumstances have rather changed recently though, wouldn't you say?" Draco knew she was referring to Voldemort's demise and Lucius' absence from the manor, and that the question was rhetorical, so he ignored it. The atmosphere of the manor was starting to break back through his recently acquired contentment at freeing the house elves. His mother seemed to pick up on this. "Shall we go make a start in the gardens?" This question he did answer.

"Yes."

oOoOo

After his mother had explained how to uproot the plants and place them in the special containers without damaging them they worked together in companionable silence. The day was not as cold as it should be for mid-November, and the sunlight shone weakly through the few clouds marring the otherwise blue sky. They worked by hand as magic would be too harsh on the beautiful flowers, but Draco didn't mind. The task kept his mind away from darker thoughts, and instead he found himself contemplating the conversation from the night before.

"Did my father really send you muggle poetry?" The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. Narcissa paused in her work, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes, Draco." She tilted her head at him in consideration. "Do you remember that book you loved so much as a child, The Hobbit? The one which Smaug's name comes from?" Draco felt his cheeks colour slightly at the mention of his stuffed dragon. The first cuddly toy he could remember having, and which was currently residing, hidden from view, under the pillows on his bed.

"Yes."

"That was written by a muggle."

"What?" Draco was incredulous. "But, _father_ used to read it to me. It had a dragon in it. And a wizard!"

"Yes, Draco." He could hear the smile in her voice as she went back to the task at hand, leaving Draco to his thoughts again. There apparently was a lot more to his father that the harshly cold and distant disciplinarian he had become as Draco had grown up. Draco had believed there had never been anything muggle in the manor apart from the victims Voldemort dragged in, and he had certainly never expected that Lucius would expose him to anything muggle willingly.

Coby appeared a few times throughout the morning, looking considerably happier. Twice he came with progress reports on his own assignment, once with iced tea and the last time to inform them that lunch was ready for them in the conservatory. He had rather good timing, as Draco had just put the last rose bush into its container, and sat back on his heels, his hand leaving a trail of dirt across his forehead as he attempted to wipe the sweat from it. Ordinarily he would be complaining loudly about the menial labour and filth long before this point, but he felt oddly satisfied by the manual work, and what he had achieved.

After a hastily cast _tergeo_, to make them both minimally presentable, lunch was a rather brief affair and it was back out into the gardens. It was unspoken, but they both knew that once the roses had made it safely with them to Cornwall, they would not be staying at the manor any longer. Draco thought that the moment they replanted that last bush couldn't come soon enough.

They made their way slowly around the house to the back of the manor. Narcissa had planted her roses underneath her wind so she could look out over them from the windows. As they walked Draco looked over the rest of the grounds, and he was suddenly overcome with a rush of memories as he finally let them in.

There was the pond he had fallen into one winter when he was about three or four years old. He remembers crawling slowly over it, his little hands sweating with the excitement of his 'adventure' sticking to the ice, and then the shock of being suddenly immersed in freezing water before being levitated quickly out by his smirking father. He remembered trying to anxiously explain that he had just wanted to see if the fish were okay underneath the frozen exterior, and that he had thought the ice would be thick enough to take his small weight and his father, for once, had not been angry, but just chuckled as charms were cast to dry and warm him.

There, the wild meadow over to the east where his mother had played and picnicked with him on sunny summer afternoons, the picnics graduating into battles over a wizard chess board as Narcissa patiently taught him to play until he was able to beat her.

In front of that, the neatly manicured lawn where he had first kicked off from the ground on a broom, cushioning charms carefully placed on the grass should he fall. It was also here that his parents had entertained guests in the warmer evenings of their parties up until the beginning of his sixth year at school.

He recalled staring down from his bedroom wishing he were old enough to join in, barely able to hear the muted hush of conversation and music through the _silencio_'d glass of his windows. He'd always been particularly enchanted by the fireflies trapped in glass lanterns suspended in mid-air, casting a glow over the frivolity. Here, in the gardens were his happy memories, his reminders that he had been loved and cherished as a child. This was the only thing he would miss about the manor.

oOoOo

It took six trips, but they had finally apparated all the flowers to the cottage in Cornwall. They sat, merrily swaying in the coastal breeze, in the back garden. The space was significantly smaller than the grounds at the manor, of course, but it was a decent size, and the three meadows that surrounded the side of the property also belonged to it.

Draco stood under the warm spray of the shower, his arms braced against the cool tiles of the wall, his head down to protect his eyes from the flow and watched the dirt and earth wash from his skin and be slowly carried by the swirling current of the water down the drain. With each particle that swirled out of sight Draco felt like a bit more weight he had been carrying within himself for the past three years vanished with it.

He carefully washed his hair with his home brewed potion, gently using his fingers to untangle the long ends. He liked it longer, but it would be touching his shoulders soon and he was aware this would heighten his resemblance to his father. Frowning, he made a mental note to take an inch or two off it later. He scrubbed at his skin until it was pink and tingling and then just stood until the water started to run cold.

Stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist, Draco stood and stared at himself in the steamy mirror. Though the reflection was blurred and muted, he knew that his face was still far too thin and the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. A strand of wet hair flopped in front of his eyes and he grabbed at his wand impulsively. With a twirl of his wrist his hair was dry. He flicked his eyes back up to the mirror and aimed his wand carefully;

"_Diffindo_." He murmured the word very gently; too much power and he might sever more than his hair. A few minutes and a lot of concentration later he wiped the mirror clean to admire his handiwork. His hair now fell to just below his chin, and he had managed to put a few well-placed layers in so that it no longer hung limply at all one length. He was impressed with himself and nodded at his reflection curtly.

Stepping through the bathroom and into his new room he cast a tempus charm. 18:27 glowed in the air before dissipating. Good, over an hour until dinner. He had just finished dressing when he noticed the two items on his bed. He quickly tucked Smaug underneath the pillows and picked up the book. 'The Complete Works of William Shakespeare'. He perched on the edge of the bed and thumbed the cover open to see an inscription in his father's writing.

'To Narcissa, on our wedding night

_One half of me is yours, the other half yours_

_Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,_

_And so all yours. _– The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 2.

All my love, Lucius.'

Underneath that was his mother's more artistic script.

'_Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgement looked; and either may be wrong. _~ William Shakespeare.'

Draco sat back with a smile playing on his lips as he gently ran his fingers over the words.

oOoOo

Dinner was when the day took an interesting turn. About halfway through the meal, a sharp, insistent tap started up at one of the windows. Stupid bloody bird, only an owl sent by Potter could have such brilliant timing. Draco got up impatiently and threw the window open. The bird sailed in and perched on the back of his vacated chair, puffing up its black feathers. It eyed Draco suspiciously and hooted irritably. Well the feeling was mutual. Draco stalked back across the room to it and gestured for it to give him the letter when it merely looked at him. It held out its leg and aimed its beak towards his arm when he reached for the parchment. Draco was faster and snatched both his arm and the envelope away from the bird. It hooted again and he chucked a bit of chicken from his plate at the thing. It seized the piece of meat from the air and soared back out into the night.

"Bloody cannibal." He muttered. There was a ministry seal on the envelope and Draco felt momentary disappointment that Potter hadn't sent the owl himself. What, why did he care about that? He shook the feeling off. He gave the letter a cursory glance. It was a standard issue set of guidelines on the Hogwarts Reconstruction Project, which was to start in five days, and contained details of apparition points and time slots, expectations from the project volunteers and a list of items that they would be required to bring. Draco passed it to his mother, but as he did so a smaller, folded piece of parchment slipped from behind it and fluttered to the table. It was addressed to him.

'_Draco Malfoy'_ scrawled across it in a messy chicken scratch the he would recognise anywhere. Potter. His heart gave a leap and he frowned at himself. What on earth was wrong with him. Potter did _not_ make his heart behave in this peculiar manner. Definitely not. Annoyed at himself he carelessly opened the parchment, tearing a corner slightly.

_'Malfoy,_

_I hope you managed to get the letters from Caelum without being bitten. I inherited him from Sirius and he's always been a bit, tetchy. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say congratulations on your court verdict. I'm happy for you and your mum. And I'm glad you're coming to the reconstruction. I heard Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini are going to be there too. Well, I guess that's all I wanted to say. See you next week._

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. Hope your wand is working well for you. I took it to Ollivander's and he said it had no allegiance to me anymore, so it should.'_

Well. At least Potter's grammar and spelling were correct. But why the fuck was he writing him a note that had no actual purpose to it, like they'd be friends all their lives? And why was he secretly pleased about it? And why the _fuck_ was his heart still leaping about, feeling like it was ricocheting of his rib cage! This was not normal, and it was not good. Not good at all.


	6. Endings and Beginnings

**A/N -** So sorry it's taken a bit longer to get this part up.. but here it is! Still un-beta'd apart from by my own unskilled eye, so apologies for any lingering mistakes.

Thank you so much to those who reviewed and subscribed to this story - so much love for you, it means so much to me! Anyway, on to the chapter, press that review button, tell me how you feel about it!

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Over the next few days, Draco spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about Harry Potter. Anything and everything seemed to turn Draco's mind in that direction, some links were tenuous and as such the associations were easy to shake off. Others left his mind reeling as the memories filtered out unstoppably into his consciousness. He had no idea what was wrong with him, and melodramatically came to the conclusion that he was descending into madness. Probably irreversibly, he thought irritably, stabbing at an innocent cherry tomato on his plate. It made a satisfying squelch.

"Perhaps, you should go for a walk when you have finished your lunch." His mother suggested, looking up from the book she was reading at the table, raising her eyebrows in amusement at his murdered tomato. Draco just glared at her and speared another mercilessly on his fork.

She was right however, he admitted grudgingly in the silence of his own mind. He had taken to exploring the wild coastal paths over the past days, and much to his surprise he found that he enjoyed it. The physicality of scrambling up and down the steep tracks kept his mind clear, and the tired ache of his muscles left a pleasantly satisfied feeling throughout his limbs and had helped him get two of the best nights' sleep he could remember having for a long time.

He set off on the trail that led up to the top of the cliffs to the right of the cottage. He had taken this way on the first day, but had gotten an hour in before realising he way only halfway to the top and that if he kept going he'd be late for dinner. Reluctantly he had reversed his course and vowed to get all the way up another day. He now knew it would be at least a four hour round trip, but he had more than enough time before he would be expected back today.

The way was not easy, at times the path dwindled down to a mere flattening of the grass indicating where others had been before him, and there were a couple of places where he had to haul himself up shoulder height rock faces. By the time he had reached the top he was sweaty, windswept and incredibly pleased with himself.

Sinking down to take a seat on an inviting flat rock he swiped at the sweaty hair stuck to his forehead and tilted his head back to feel the wind lashing over and around him. Opening his eyes he righted himself and stared out at the tumultuous sea. It rolled and collided in on itself with great roars in its rush towards the bottom of the cliffs. It was as grey as the clouds roiling above it, and Draco was vaguely aware that a storm was coming in as a strike of lightening hit the body of water on the horizon.

However, he was distracted by a tiny blur of gold whizzing past his left ear. This combined with the wind whipping his hair back from his face brought him back to _that_ quidditch game. At the time, he had been furious with himself for being too busy taunting and trying to get Potter's attention to notice the snitch hovering just inches from his own face. In his memory though, he was fixated on how close Potter had flown to him, his fingers almost grazing his hair.

He came back to himself with a start as a clap of thunder broke into his consciousness. The flash of gold that had spurred the recollection was a tiny firecrest, now sat innocuously in a hedgerow, tilting its head curiously and then fluttering off with a chirp as the next round of thunder rolled around the cliff top in a drawn out rumble. Draco was furious. This was supposed to take his mind off of bloody Potter, not make him more fixated.

He jumped to his feet as the first big drop of rain landed with a splash onto his nose. His hands clenched and curled at his sides, fingernails biting in to his palms. That was it. He had absolutely had enough of Harry. Bloody. Potter. It was enough that the boy seemed determined to plague his life.. he couldn't have his mind too. He could feel his control slipping, but for once he didn't care. He was all alone up here anyway. He lost it. He shouted at the top of his voice, at first any words he might have been trying to say were indiscernible noise, but it eventually formed into something more understandable.

"Fuck off out of my head_, Potter_!" His yell mixed in with the howls of the wind and was whipped back out over the crashing waves away from him. He could have stood there shouting until he was hoarse, but he forced himself to stop. Breathing hard he unclenched his fists. His throat hurt and he would soon be soaked, but the utter abandon he had felt was worth it. He cast one look back out to sea and started back down the trail he had come up. Caught up in his emotions as he was, he realised he needed to get back before the storm hit, but completely forgot that he could have just apparated.

oOoOo

The winter sun was shining weakly, but brightly at Draco and his mother made their way up to Hogwarts from the apparition points in Hogsmeade. Even in the simple, casual robes his mother was dressed in, she looked elegant. She held her head high and moved with grace, although Draco was certain that she was as apprehensive as he was about how they would be received at the site. They drew to a stop by the great gates and his mother took his arm. He mimicked her confident pose and together they swept through and up the path.

As they drew nearer, groups of wizards stopped their conversations to stare opening at them. Jeering whispers began to reach his ears.

_'What are _they_ doing here?'_

_'Death Eater scum..'_

_'How dare they..'_

When a short wizard with a long straggly beard spat at their feet Draco's steps faltered, but Narcissa's did not.

"Don't give them the satisfaction of reacting." She hissed, keeping her head high. They continued up the drive, Draco flinched the couple of times that wands were pointed in their direction, but with such large numbers of both Hogwarts' staff and Ministry Aurors present, no one actually dared use them. They reached the checkpoint that had been set up at the castle doors, where a dumpy little witch looked up to greet them, a broad smile set across her homely features. An expression that turned horrified as she registered who exactly was stood in front of her. Her face drained of colour, and she glanced around uncertainly, most probably to see where the nearest Auror was stationed.

Narcissa cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow, holding out the registration papers the owl had delivered to them earlier in the week.

"I, ah." The old witch stuttered and took a couple of steps back from them, her face as grey as the crumbled stone walls behind her.

"Mrs Dimbleby, is there a problem here?" A voice came from behind them. Draco nearly groaned. Not again. For the love of all things magical. The tiny woman dithered, her eyes flicking from Draco and his mother, to the owner of the voice before seeming to make up her mind.

"N-no Mister Potter. Not at all." With a shaking hand she finally took the parchment from Narcissa's outstretched hand. "Wands please." His mother handed hers over with a charming smile, but Draco hesitated for a second, a scowl creeping out across his features, finally relinquishing his as Potter stepped up to his side. Draco wanted to throw a tantrum as his wand was signed in and inspected whilst Potter watched on seriously as if he were some sort of, overlord. Instead, he kept his face neutral, affecting an air of indifference towards the whole situation.

His wand was finally handed back and the short little witch hurriedly scuttled back from them to greet someone else.

"Narcissa," He paused, uncertain, "Malfoy." Apparently first names still didn't apply between them. Well, good. "I'm glad you both came." Narcissa inclined her head slightly.

"As I said, anything we can do to help." Potter beamed at his mother. Draco wanted to gag.

"Let me walk you to the campsite?"

"Certainly." Narcissa took Harry's offered arm. Draco pursed his lips and walked on her other side, resolutely ignoring Potter and his inane chatter to his mother. Why now, why after six whole years of open animosity, was Potter doing all of this. He resentfully conceded that Potter's presence at their side had at least halted the hateful looks and whispers that had come their way as they had come up the drive. He hardly noticed when they reached the field that had been prepared for tents to be safely and sturdily pitched. Potter blinked at him.

"Well, I um, guess I'll see you tomorrow. Jobs are being assigned at nine a.m. by the castle doors." A brief smile raised his lips as he fixed Draco with a steady gaze, then seeming to remember something, gave his head a little shake and his eyes slipped away. And then he was gone, striding back towards the castle as if there was nothing odd at all about what had just occurred. His mother smiled knowingly at him and set about raising their tent, her wand moving with flourished, quick little twists and flicks.

"Draco," She began in a tone that indicated a lecture was about to begin. "This is the beginning of our chance to bring some honour back to our family. Your father's prejudice did us no favours, and his pride was more arrogance. I know you always looked up to him, but there are some things that you have to let go of now." Throughout her words, her attention never wavered from the task at hand. As she finished speaking she gave him a little smile, and stepped inside the tent, leaving Draco outside with his own thoughts.

oOoOo

The following morning they stood towards the back of the rather large group, a surprising amount of space around them. It seemed no one wanted to be tainted by their presence. Indeed, no one had spoken to either of them at all since Potter. After they had all been welcomed, McGonagall gave a short presentation on the work required and the timeframe they were expecting. Due to the combination of magical and muggle methods they were looking at two weeks to complete the external repairs. When she had finished several of the other professors explained further about the spells and charms that would need to be learnt.

Draco signed up for the most physical part of the reconstruction. He wanted the mind-numbing hard work. He was determined to prove himself. He had thought for a long time about what his mother had said to him the evening before, and if he needed to put his own pride aside to rebuild his family's name, then he would. As he turned away from the people crowding to get assigned where they wanted, he caught sight of someone waving frantically at him. Pansy Parkinson.

"Well, well. Look what the kneazle dragged in." He drawled as she threw her arms around his neck. He allowed the contact momentarily, before gently prising her off. "Pansy, Blaise." He nodded to the boy standing quietly, who held out his hand to him. They shook once, firmly, the gesture full of unspoken words of friendship and solidarity. Pansy was grinning, but then her expression faltered slightly as she stared at something over his shoulder. He turned awkwardly and his curious gaze was met by Potter's. He let his eyes ice over and held the other boy's stare.

Pansy dithered by his side a moment more, before squaring her shoulders and heading in Potter's direction.

"What's she doing?" Blaise hissed and set after her. Draco gave a long suffering sigh and then followed suit.

"Potter," She began hesitantly, stuttering, "I uh, I just uh, wanted to, say that I'm sorry. You know, for, what I did.." Her voice trailed into a whisper, "I was so _scared_. I didn't, didn't know what else to do." She stopped and stared down at her feet. Potter blinked at her for a moment, stunned. Blaise calmly looked between the two of them with unconcealed interest, though Draco knew his hand would be on his wand in Pansy's defence in a second if necessary. Silence stretched across the small group, and Draco was vaguely aware that they were beginning to attract attention. Then Potter seemed to come to a decision.

"I understand." And once again, a hand was being held out to be shaken. Pansy's mouth dropped open and she took his hand, her own visibly shaking. Potter smiled. "I think it's time everyone put the past where it belongs." Potter caught Draco's eye again, his lips lifting up in another, smaller smile and then he walked away.

oOoOo

The first week of the reconstruction passed in a blur for Draco. He kept his head down and threw himself into the most manual parts of the construction with the same vigour he had the coastal hikes in Cornwall. After it became apparent over the first couple of days that his presence at the site wasn't welcome, he even started to distance himself from Blaise and Pansy, acknowledging them in passing, but never engaging in conversation, and quickly making excuses to slip away from them.

He made sure the mask never slipped from his face and ignored the jibes, jeers and hexes he received, most of the time not even bothering to cast a _protego_ to protect himself. He was determined to make the name Malfoy mean something again, and if he had to endure this to get there, then he would.

He thought his plan was working, until one particularly vicious stinging hex was thrown at him whilst his back was turned. It hit his lower back and left him on his hands and knees, his eyes screwed shut, and teeth gritted against the pain to prevent himself from making any noise.

"Malfoy! Malfoy?" Oh, just bloody great, his own personal hero was here to save the day again. "Malfoy, are you alright?" A gentle hand briefly touched hesitantly on his shoulder. Draco held his tongue, shrugging him off and struggled to his feet, intending to leave. The hand caught his shoulder again.

"What? What do you want, Potter?" Potter ran his hand through his unruly hair and let it drop to his side.

"I, you were hurt."

"I can take care of myself, Potter." His words were emotionless. Draco was tired, and he couldn't be bothered with any of this anymore.

"Merlin, Malfoy. What the fuck is wrong with you? You were hexed whilst your back was turned. There's a difference between keeping your head down, and defending yourself you know!" Draco still didn't reply. It seemed to make Potter angrier, and Draco had to admit, it was enjoyable to see the other boy as frustrated as he had been over the past few weeks. "Come on!" Potter was almost shouting now. "You insufferable ferret faced prat.. Say something! What, do you honestly have nothing to say for yourself now that daddy isn't here to tell you how to behave what to say!?"

Draco still didn't react, but he was aware that his body was betraying his interest in the situation; he could feel his eyes shining, coming to life again. This was what he knew; fighting with Potter was what he had always done. And he'd always loved getting this reaction from the other boy, strived for it. And now he was getting it without even having to do anything. He was vaguely aware that Potter was still talking, but he was caught up in watching the flush of anger that had appeared and was slowly spreading across Potter's cheeks. Potter couldn't seem to stop the words that were pouring venomously from his lips now that he'd noticed the light filtering back into Draco's eyes. It was as if the sight had bewitched him. He wanted to see those eyes lit with something, anything, if it had to be anger, then so be it. Instead, Draco seemed to reign himself in, a cool mask of indifference shuttering back over his face as he turned as if to leave whilst saying,

"I thought we'd moved past the school boy insults and name calling, _Potter_." And Potter couldn't stop it. His next words left his mouth before he could halt them.

"We've moved past a lot of things since school, Malfoy, but let's put it this way, even though I don't hate you anymore, if you were on fire and I had water? I'd drink it." And he knew he'd gone too far. Draco whirled around clutching convulsively at his scarred hand, and Potter nearly gasped at the intensity of the fury in his pale, narrowed eyes. He took the two steps towards him, using the advantage of his two inches in height to sneer down into his face, hands curled into fists at his sides. For a moment, Potter expected a smack in the face. For a moment, Draco expected that he would hit him in the face, but he found he couldn't do it. He was angry, he was _furious_, but he couldn't find the will to raise his hand against the smaller boy.

"Good to know, Potter, I'll keep that in mind." He curled his upper lip into a snarl and then stalked away. The further he got from Potter, the more his anger washed over him and he felt.. He felt alive again.


	7. Apologies and Revelations

**A/N:** Unbeta'd, apologies for remaining errors.. I've not had enough caffeine today to go back through for a triple check! Thank you once again to everyone who's reading, and has followed and favourited this fic.. it makes me so happy! And my favourite reviewer **drarryisgreen**, I'm glad to have provided a pick-me-up for you with the last chapter! But yes, on with the fic. Enjoy! And if you do, please take a moment to let me know and hit that nice shiny review button! I do love them. Reviews, caffeine and jellybeans make me a very, very happy bunny! =) Cheers guys!

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It was finished. All the building work that required the help of the masses had been completed and everyone would be going home in the morning after tonight's celebratory, barbecue, was it? Draco found the whole concept of cooking an entire meal outside for entertainment purposes very bizarre, especially in December. The finishing internal touches to the castle were to be finalised by the professors over the next few months, ready for the school term to begin as normal the following September.

With the afternoon free of tasks, Draco had found himself sitting by the Great Lake staring up at the castle. It looked pretty much the same, the exception being the new small wing that would be housing any students returning for an eighth year. Draco had received his invitation that morning detailing the requirements for the year. He shivered a little bit as a bitingly cold breeze rushed over the lake and drew his scarf tighter around his neck.

During his six months in the holding cells at the Ministry of Magic, Draco had seldom let himself entertain the idea that he would one day be free, let alone be allowed to return to Hogwarts if they rebuilt it. He'd always known that he would take that chance though, should it be offered. He'd harboured secret plans for his life over the years, especially when Voldemort had taken up residence in the manor. Little fantasies about what he would do if he had that choice and freedom. He would escape into these private dreams on the few occasions Voldemort left the manor and its inhabitants to their own devices.

He scanned the sky above the turrets. Even though it was freezing and under two weeks until Christmas, the sky was perfectly clear and blue, just one lonely little white cloud puffing slowly across the horizon, as if waiting for its moment to strike and cast a pitiful shadow onto the ground below. He frowned. What a weird thought. And then there actually was a shadow looming across his patch of grass.

"Malfoy." The sound of his own name cut across his thoughts and he sighed. He already knew who it was. That voice was unmistakeable; there was only one person it could belong to. The same person he had managed to consistently avoid since their confrontation the week before.

Although he hadn't spoken to the other boy, he had been aware of Potter's eyes on him whenever they were around each other, and done a fair bit of his own secretive observation when the opportunities had arisen. He had noticed that Potter had seemed to keep to himself over the week, and there had been no sign of either Granger or the Weasle. He had looked up to catch him smiling his way a couple of times, like when he had been relaxed and chatting to Pansy and Blaise around the campfire one evening, or when he had spoken back to the taunts thrown his way or deflected spells and hexes. After only a day of standing up for himself, the incidents had decreased, and a few people had actually voluntarily spoken to him about things other than the reconstruction.

"Potter." He said, without looking up. The other boy seemed to take this as encouragement and settled himself on the grass beside him.

"It looks, not quite the same somehow, doesn't it?" Draco made a noncommittal sound in his throat. "Yes, well, anyway. I was er, I got my letter. I was just wondering, if, whether or not, you'd be coming back?" His voice sounded, hopeful even as he stumbled through his words. Draco snorted inelegantly.

"Worried you wouldn't have anyone to insult are you, Potter?" He sneered, standing up gracefully. Potter scrambled up with a hurried movement that almost pitched him head first into the lake. As it was, his glasses fell from his face with a soft splash into the water's edge, the small tide threatening to draw them deeper in.

"Oh for fucks sake." He plunged his hand in after them and then turned to face Draco, glasses dripping onto his shirt. Draco tried not to stare at how the wet material was clinging to the other boy's body, and sneered to cover it up.

"You really are the epitome of elegance and grace, Potter." Draco drawled, making to turn and start back towards the campsite.

"Yes, no. Malfoy! Wait!" A strong hand closed around Draco's wrist and he frowned at it, feigning disgust, staring once more at the scars across tanned knuckles.

"Unhand me at once, Potter!" He spluttered before he realised what, exactly it was that his mouth was apparently saying.

"Unhand you! Unhand?" Potter threw his head back and started laughing, one hand still tight around Draco's wrist and the other clutching his dripping glasses. "What, are you from a Shakespeare play or something?" Draco allowed himself a small smile at how close to the truth Potter had hit. He had spent a lot of his evenings immersed in the book that his mother had given him, and well, he supposed that had sounded quite funny out loud.

Potter stopped laughing when he realised Draco was smiling and stared up at him. Draco hadn't realised just how green his eyes were before. They'd always been hidden behind the lenses of his stupid glasses, and Merlin were they _green_.

"You can let go you know." He said, still smiling. Potter's cheeks flushed a deep red as his eyes moved down to where he still had Draco's wrist clasped tightly.

"I. Oh. Sorry." He dropped his wrist hurriedly. "You look, different when you're smiling." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, it opened into an 'o' of surprise and he turned redder still, the flush creeping up to the tips of his ears. Despite himself, Draco actually laughed. In that moment he realised that it was just as pleasurable to laugh with Harry, and make his face flush in sweet embarrassment, as it was to fight with him and colour those cheeks with anger. His stomach twisted. Since when was anything about this boy _sweet_ and why had he suddenly become _Harry_ in his mind? The laughter died in his mouth.

"Why, Potter? Just why, have you suddenly decided that your mission in life is to swoop in and, and, start being _nice_." Draco's face pinched in at that word as if he'd just taken a bite of a particularly vehement lemon. Harry's face drained of colour. _Potter _damn it, _Potter_'s face.

"Honestly?" Draco gave a slight nod, but didn't say anything, watching as the shorter boy shuffled his feet nervously and ran a hand through his hair again before dropping back down to the grass. Draco hesitated a moment and then decided that it would be too awkward to stay standing and sank gracefully next to him, watching him carefully. Ha- no, Potter, twirled his glasses nervously a few times before looking up and locking Draco's eyes with his own. Once again, Draco was struck by how green and clear they were without the glasses obscuring them.

"Oh, hell." He huffed a great breath of air out of his mouth. "Fine. I used to think I hated you. Absolute hate. You were spoilt, and obnoxious, rude, a total git, and, and downright nasty about the first friend I'd ever had." Draco could feel his eyebrows up somewhere near his hairline. Yes, he'd heard the other boy speak about his like this, but never so calmly. It was like he was just stating facts.

"Tell me how you really feel, Potter." He mumbled, the slight feeling of embarrassment catching him out and keeping his anger in check for once.

"Shut up, just listen.. By the time sixth year came around, I was completely obsessed by the idea that you were always up to something downright awful and evil. But, I think, maybe there was a part of me that was also watching, and waiting for you to prove me wrong, that there was something else to you besides all that misplaced arrogance and prejudice." Draco winced at the image of his father the boy's words were conjuring. Potter drew another great breath and rushed on, afraid that if he stopped for too long the words would run out.

"I started following you. Hell, I was obsessed with _you_ by then. I was, worried," he laughed shortly, "I was worried for you. And then, and then.. I found you, that night. In the bathroom.. And I, I.. I was so horrified by myself." His voice was barely a whisper when Draco cut in loudly;

"But you never said a word to me! You just acted as if it had never happened! That hurt more than the curse in the first place!" Horrified, he felt his eyes begin to burn, and screwed them tightly shut.

"I know. But Merlin, Malfoy.. I was, I _am_, so, _so_ sorry. I didn't _know_." His voice was anguished. Draco just nodded curtly for him to continue. He had no idea why he was still sitting here, listening to this, but he couldn't make himself walk away. Potter sighed shakily.

"I've never, never stopped thinking about that night. I.. I have more nightmares about that, then about, well, Voldemort. Please, please believe me, that I'm so sorry. Please accept my apology." He hung his head, cheeks still flaming, but with embarrassment or now shame, Draco didn't know.

"So that's why you've become my personal saviour then?" Draco spat the words out, his voice was icy, dripping with contempt, even though the tone didn't quite match the emotions swirling through him. He was beyond confused about what was happening here.

"No! Listen, yes! But no, not just that." Potter was tripping over his words now and Draco felt an unexpected rush of compassion, but shook it off with a scowl.

"Well, do enlighten me, Potter."

"It was that night in the Astronomy tower." Draco inhaled harshly. "I saw it, saw everything. You, lowered your wand. You wanted to take that offer of protection, I know you did," He continued, cutting off Draco's response. "If the others hadn't arrived when they did, I think you would have. And then you saved me at the manor. I meant what I said in that courtroom you know, Malfoy. I know you had no less choice about your part in the war than I did, but you made a choice that day." Draco studied him intensely, but only found outright honesty in the other's face. He sighed.

"I know there's more to you than your upbringing Malfoy." Potter shuffled round on the grass to face him straight on, he held out his hand. For a moment, Draco was transported back to being eleven years old again, and then Harry spoke. "I'd like to start over. Hi, I'm Harry Potter." His smile was so earnest it made Draco laugh again.

"Draco Malfoy." He took his hand. Harry laughed too, a low, warm sound. There was no denying that Draco definitely enjoyed making Harry laugh, as much as there was no denying that it was definitely Harry in his head now. Draco heard a sharp intake of breath and felt his hand being twisted over. Harry had finally noticed the matching scars.

"I dream about this night too." Harry murmured, tracing his thumb over the slightly raised edges of Draco's scars. Draco snatched his hand away from the intensity of Harry's touch.

"Me too." He admitted after a beat of silence. The silence then stretched out between them, turning awkward as Harry couldn't tear his gaze away from Draco's hand, and Draco couldn't stop thinking about how it had felt when Harry had touched his hand like _that_.. So, gently.

Both boys were saved from the awkwardness by Harry's owl swooping down and settling next to Harry. It blinked its large amber eyes at Harry seriously and held out its leg.

"Hi, Caelum." Harry murmured, running a finger gently across the owl's black feathered head. It hooted softly and held out its leg more insistently. When Harry reached out to take the parchment the thing swivelled its head to look at Draco, and he swore it _hissed_ at him. Affronted, Draco crossed his arms.

"Figures that your bird would bloody hate me. Almost took a chunk out of me the last time." He sniffed derisively, glaring right back at it. It ruffled up its feathers and twittered angrily. Harry chuckled.

"Don't worry, it's not just you. He got a good piece of me with each bit of mail I sent or received for a good year." Harry uncurled the parchment and grinned.

"Hermione and Ron found her parents!" He glanced up to see Draco frowning at him. "They were in Australia, after she obliviated them, and they've found them!" His explanation fell short.

"What are you on about, Potter?" Hermione obliviated her own parents? But, why?

"It was at the end of the summer after sixth year," Harry began, face scrunched up trying to remember properly, "We were about to, well, I, was about to leave, should've figured they'd never let me go on my own. And well, you know what it was like. Entire families of muggleborn witches and wizards were disappearing, being tortured, killed. Hermione just couldn't bear the thought of that happening to her family. So she obliviated them, wiped her from their memories entirely. Set a new life up for them in Australia. They've been gone since the trials ended. Now all they need to do is figure out how, or, if, the memory charm can be reversed."

Draco sat in silence. He had forgotten that people who had fought for the light would have their own actions to deal with and account for. Now, he could see Granger in a new light. Only sheer desperation could have made her do something like that. Would he have done that, if the positions were reversed? _Could_ he have done it? He thought it would take someone very strong, and selfless to be able to do such a thing. It would have been so, _painful_. Draco was taken aback by his empathy for her situation.

"Anyway." Harry's voice brought him out of his reverie once more. "I guess that's it, really. I'm glad we're starting over." He didn't say any more about Hermione, maybe he could tell that it had left Draco a lot to think about. When did he get so perceptive? Draco was finding his opinions on many people being revised recently. Harry got to his feet slowly, stumbling a bit, but staying safely away from the edge of the lake this time, putting his now dry glasses back on. Draco missed the intensity of the green a bit. But only a bit.

"I'll see you around, yeah?" His voice was tentative, as was his smile.

"Yeah." Draco echoed quietly. "Around." Harry's smile got wider, and he nodded once before turning and slowly strolling back towards the campsite. Draco sat for a long time after that, pulling his cloak and scarf tightly around him against the cold. He thought about what Harry had told him about Granger. About what Harry had said about him, his apology, how he had traced his scars with a gentle intensity that had scared him. Draco sat long after his body had become numb from the cold, only moving when the sun started to set over the small, rippling waves. He fell over his own feet when he tried to stand, and had to stamp them a few times to get the blood flowing back in to them.

He returned to the campsite to find the celebrations in full swing, and when Harry caught his eye across the fire and smiled at him, he smiled back.


	8. Realisations and Full Names

**A/N:** Oh my goodness! Thank you so _so_ much for all my lovely, amazing, shiny reviews! And to all my new subscribers! It means ever so much to get your comments, and I'll admit when I woke up to them this morning I may have let out a small squeal of excitement. As such, I have been spurred on and have a new chapter in record time! Apologies for any remaining errors that I may have missed on my read-through. This chapter turned out completely different from what I intended to write, it's from Harry's perspective, but it'll return to Draco after this one. Anyway, enough of my rambling and on with the fic. Please enjoy and keep telling me how you feel about it, it really helps me =) Cheers lovelies!

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_Harry's POV – The morning of Draco's final trial._

Harry watched in half-hearted dismay as Ron's knight took out his queen, placing him in check. The Wizarding Wireless Network was playing softly from an old radio in the corner of the dusty room. The trio had gotten used to the background noise in their time away, and found a strange sense of comfort in keeping it playing even now.

"Yes! I win again." Ron crowed triumphantly. "I think that's a record time, even for you, Harry!" Harry smiled slightly, letting Ron have it. He _was_ awful at chess, really, but he was distracted today, more so than usual. Today was the last day of the death eater trials following the end of the war. Inevitably, of course, there had been a few that had managed to escape and evade capture even now, but they had gotten the majority. Today was Draco Malfoy's last court appearance, the day he would be receiving his verdict. And tomorrow, Ron and Hermione would be leaving for Australia for the foreseeable future to find her parents. Without his best friends living under the same roof as him, Harry would be on his own in the vast, unfriendly house. He'd really be completely, totally on his own, for the first time in months.

Hermione regarded the pair from over the top of the latest book she was immersed in. Frowning she lowered it to her lap and sat upright, displacing a cloud of dust from the decrepit sofa she had taken to sitting on with her books whilst the boys busied themselves with whatever it was they had found to do. No amount of cleaning, magical or muggle seemed to make Grimmauld Place any tidier. And Hermione had forced them into doing a lot of it since they had all moved in.

"Harry, are you alright?" Damn it, he'd thought he'd been hiding his feelings more thoroughly recently, but the girl was nothing but if observant and persistence, annoyingly, came hand in hand with that for her.

"Yeah, 'Mione, I'm fine." He didn't meet her eyes, instead focusing his gaze to the table in front of him, wiping a scattering of crumbs to the floor. "Fancy another game, Ron?" He tried to divert her attention.

"Sure mate." Ron was only too pleased to oblige, he loved chess, he loved winning chess, and he was quite happily oblivious to his girlfriend's worried expression and Harry's distraction tactics as he set the board back up, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth. From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione sit up straighter, and discard her book entirely. Uh oh. He was in trouble, and he knew from experience that she wouldn't let it drop.

"Pawn to E4." Ron mumbled, spraying crumbs across the board. Before Harry could open his mouth to make his first move Hermione was beside him, her hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, Ron paused with another biscuit halfway to his mouth. They both knew when Hermione meant business.

"Harry," She began in a patient tone. "I've known you for a long time now, and I know when you're not telling the truth." Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"S'nothing. Nothing to worry about. You should be thinking about yourself right now, 'Mione." She pushed an escaped tendril of bushy hair behind her ear and took the seat on the edge of the table, staring at him concernedly.

"Is that's what's wrong?" She probed gently. "Are you worried about Ron and I going away, that you'll be on your own?" She laid a hand on his arm affectionately. Harry felt his defences crack slightly.

"You know you can go to the Burrow any time mate." Ron piped up, chess forgotten in favour of being earnestly helpful. "Mum'd be happy to see you. And Gin." At the mention of Ginny's name Harry pulled his arm out of reach of Hermione.

"Me and Ginny aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment, Ron." He mumbled. As the Weasley family as a whole was prone to do with such situations, Ron was stoically ignoring the significant rift that had opened up between Harry and Ginny.

After the battle of Hogwarts, she had been distant. Hell, he had been distant, too. He couldn't place all the blame on her. When a large portion of the Wizarding world was rejoicing and celebrating, many others had been grieving. Harry, and certainly the Weasleys fell into the latter. Harry had lost so many of the people he loved to the war, but what haunted him the most, much to his own confusion, had been the image of Draco Malfoy huddling in the Great Hall with his parents, completely stripped of his arrogance, sheer horror and despair etched across his refined features, a combination of expressions that Harry had never thought he'd see on that face.

Any thoughts or dreams of just picking up his relationship with Ginny where they had left off the year before were shattered. Another casualty of the war. Words between them were stilted and laced with bitterness at best, physical affection awkward and seldom offered. When he had held her as she cried at Fred's funeral, it had felt wrong, and the one kiss they shared hadn't made him feel anything but uncomfortable.

When they had finally sat down to talk about it, Ginny had hollowly said she needed some time. Harry had felt immediately inclined to allow her this, felt, obligated to. But obligation wasn't a word that should come into play when thinking about someone he was supposed to love and he couldn't shake the feeling that it could never be right for them again, no matter how much time passed. Cowardice having never been in his nature he had broken it off completely. Finally her emotions showed themselves. She had raged at him, shouted, screamed, cried, and then she had fallen silent. Harry had let her. The silence still hadn't been broken.

Harry had however, confided in Hermione about everything. About how he just somehow knew that he couldn't fix things between them, and what did that mean anyway? And why had his physical interest in her, in any girl for that matter, just waned and finally disappeared altogether? Hermione had just smiled at him in that way that meant she was at least two steps ahead of his own brain and gently suggested that maybe his physical preferences lay somewhere else entirely. He had felt affronted and stormed away from her. But after locking himself in his room for three days straight, with nothing but his Quidditch magazines packed with shoots of half-naked, and very male players, remembering the feel of Malfoy's body plastered to his like a second skin as he flew them both out of the room of requirement, he had come to the grudging conclusion that perhaps, just maybe she had been just the tiniest bit correct. Maybe.

When he had finally emerged and conceded that she might have been right but refused to allow her to take him to a club and in her words, 'test the theory', she had acted in true Hermione fashion and gathered every single book on the subject she could find. She took to reading aloud paragraphs from titles such as, 'Homosexuality & Wizarding Society', and 'Magical Masculinity & Sexuality'. When she made it to 'Great Events From History: Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual & Transgender Events, 1849-2006' and the 'Routledge International Encyclopaedia of Queer Culture', Harry had had enough, and was becoming terrified that Ron would walk in on one of her verbal tirades of something she found particularly interesting. So he decided to consent to being taken out to a muggle gay club.

Harry had refused to drink more than two beers, wanting to keep his head clear, which had made Hermione's mission that much harder. However, in the end he had left, sweaty, mildly dishevelled and assured in his lack of dancing abilities but with two numbers and a kiss that was by no means anything special, but had still left him certain that he definitely preferred kissing boys. Harry had yet to find a way to break the news to Ron, who continued to not so subtly attempt to reconcile him with his sister.

"Harry." Hermione's voice was soft, but insistent, cutting into his thoughts unpleasantly. "That's not it, is it?" He opened his mouth and glanced at Ron, then shut it again. His silence seemed to expand oppressively out into the dusty library, the room they had taken to spending the most time in. At that moment, the witch caterwauling over the WWN stopped, and the grisly voice of the host popped and crackled across the air.

"_And now we continue our live coverage from the Ministry trials. Today sees the end of them, and can I say what a relief that really is for the Wizarding community. Ah. In fact, the last defendant is now entering the courtroom, one Draco Lucius Malfoy. Last of the Malfoys as well. Terrible family that one.._" Harry felt the colour drain from his cheeks. He didn't want to hear this.

"Hope that ferret-y prat gets what he deserves." Ron muttered, popping his forgotten biscuit into his mouth whole. Hermione took one look at Harry's face and blanched herself a little gasp escaping her mouth.

"I'd forgotten that was today." She said eyeing Harry suspiciously. There was that brain of hers again; figuring things out that he hadn't even begun to think about. Harry definitely hadn't forgotten. Ever since he had testified at Narcissa Malfoy's hearing the week before, and seen the family's trademark platinum hair, he hadn't been able to get Malfoy out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, me too." Ron said around his biscuit, a chocolate chip almost landing on Hermione's hand, which she snatched away in disgust. "Little git will finally get his, hey, Harry!" Harry nearly groaned aloud. No, he didn't think Malfoy deserved an Azkaban sentence, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to admit it. He knew he should be down at the Ministry, testifying on his behalf, after all, the git had saved them all that day at Malfoy Manor. But testifying would mean admitting it. And admitting that, could mean something else entirely and he wasn't sure he was ready to do that.

"That little git, Ronald, saved our lives." Hermione bristled, "Or have you forgotten that day? Because I certainly haven't." It was Ron's turn to pale now under the intensity of her glare. No, none of them had forgotten, Harry could still remember the sounds of Hermione's screams at the hands of Bellatrix, and he knew that Ron heard them almost every night whilst he slept because he had told him as much. Hermione had never really spoken about it before, and it seemed all her feelings towards it were coming out now. Her glare switched to Harry and he shrank back involuntarily. "Why aren't you at the Ministry, Harry Potter?" Oh no, now she was full-naming him. At least she hadn't thrown his middle name into the mix; that was reserved for full-blown wrath situations.

"I, uh, I.."

"You, you.. you what?" She really _was _angry, Harry blinked and swallowed convulsively. "Malfoy has done a lot of things.. mostly in the name of a stupid, childish school rivalry, and you two certainly weren't innocent bystanders in that. But he does _not_ deserve to go to Azkaban for acting like a, a child stuffed full of pompous ideals and prejudiced naivety! That's all he was, a child growing up with a predetermined future! I probably would have been tortured to death that day if he hadn't given you time to escape and save me. Was that the action of a true, _loyal_, Death Eater? Well?" She slammed her hand onto the table impatiently. "So help me, God, if you don't go, Harry James Potter, _I _will." There it was, the middle name was in play. Harry screwed his eyes shut briefly.

"Oh hell, Hermione. You're right, of course you're right." This was it; he was going to have to do it. It was the right thing to do, and to hell with whatever it would bring into play after the fact. He'd just have to deal with that later. Ron looked so shocked that in a different circumstance Harry would have laughed. As it was, he found himself scrambling to his feet and hastily shoving his wand into his back pocket.

"Of course I am." She huffed slightly indignantly. Then more gently, "We'll wait for you at the Leaky. Won't we, Ronald." He received a sharp elbow to ribs when he didn't reply.

"Yeah mate, yeah. 'Course we will." Harry was suddenly grateful that the fireplace in the Library had been connected to the Floo network and hurried towards it, realising that time was probably running out, and making it there in time would probably be a very close call now, if not impossible. He found himself hoping for the former. He clambered into it grabbing a fistful of powder, soot flying everywhere, and almost yelled;

"Ministry of Magic!"

He tumbled out of the floo, barely pausing to dust himself down and all but ran towards the courtrooms, bypassing the wand check points by pulling up his fringe and playing the 'I'm Harry Potter' card, even though it made him cringe inwardly, because really, he didn't have any other choice right now.

Pausing before the great heavy doors for a moment he stole in a massive breath of air, and then released it in a whoosh and threw them open. The lights from the cameras blinded him, and he cursed himself, then Hermione, to hell and back for doing this as he stepped up to the stand. But then he caught Draco's eye and registered the hope echoing in the silvery depths, and knew for sure that he'd made the right decision.


	9. Choices and Christmas Trees

**A/N:** _Firstly_, I do feel I have to address one review directly to clear up any confusion or questions that might have arisen in the previous chapter and also because it was a guest review and I can't respond personally; **AndreaDorea**, thank you for taking the time to review, I would never want to have holes in my plot overlooked. However, please allow me to explain my reasoning.. when Draco's mother asked if it was Hermione at Malfoy Manor, Draco replied "I … maybe … yeah." And in turn when asked about Ron, he replied, "It could be." (Deathly Hallows, Chapter 23, p. 372 UK publication). I personally don't consider that to be a direct, positive identification at all. Also, if he had positively identified Harry in the beginning, Voldemort would have been summoned straight away and they all would have been killed. So no, I suppose Draco didn't save Harry's life directly, but by casting that doubt he definitely provided the window of opportunity, which then led to their escape. As for the mead, when Ron was poisoned it was in Slughorn's possession, not that I'm blaming him, but, it's not as if Draco set out with Ron as his target. Unfortunate outcome, but unintentional, and this is why I feel Hermione would act in this way over Draco's trial, and sees the majority of Draco's actions as forced upon him and I can't see her being able to let him to go to Azkaban if it can be stopped, even if they have never been friends.

Whew, that was long! My apologies, but I hope this has given some clarity into Hermione's behaviour and words.

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So _secondly_, thank you for **all** of my reviews, I'm overwhelmed by the responses I'm getting! I think they might even make me happier than coffee..! And so onto the next chapter. Please do keep telling me what you think, I appreciate every single comment a lot! =) Cheers very, very much guys!

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After returning to the Cornish cottage, Draco slept for what felt like a year. Sinking into his own bed his first night back, he lifted his pillows to check Smaug was still safely tucked away and then drew his duvet tightly around him appreciating, for perhaps the first time ever, the ridiculously high thread count of his expensive bedcovers. Two weeks of sleeping in a tent, no matter how magically altered, will do that to a person he supposed as he drifted off.

Draco threw himself into the Christmas preparations, determined that it would be the best one ever, that it would be perfect. Especially for his mother. He had never been in love with anyone, but he supposed that if he was, and they were separated involuntarily, that Christmas would be the worst time for missing them. He didn't really know why he thought that, he just did. Not that he would particularly miss his father's company; Christmas might actually be merry and joyful, and all those things the stupid muggle songs were on about, without his imposing presence. Still, it was not exactly the highest target, given that the previous year had been spent with evil incarnate sitting at the other end of the table using human entrails as decorations. Draco's stomach turned over as he shuddered and pushed that thought as well as the panic and bile that had risen up with it as far from his mind as possible.

Much to Coby's dismay he had announced the one morning at breakfast that he would be acquiring the Christmas tree that year, and they would be decorating it by hand. When the little elf had dropped the teapot with a clatter, fisted up his floppy ears in his hands and begun to wail, he had conceded the task of a wreath for the front door, and his mother had gently reminded him that he would be responsible for the food on Christmas day itself. Significantly placated Coby had sniffed loudly and disappeared to create the most elaborate and over the top wreath Draco had ever seen.

And that was how he found himself in the middle of the Mersey Forest somewhere in Cheshire, trudging about in the snow looking for that perfect tree. Of course it had to be perfect, tall but not too tall, thick, straight trunk and full, green branches giving off that smell of fresh pine. That, quintessential Christmas smell that would drift through the house and mingle with the smell of cinnamon, mint candy canes and those gingerbread biscuits that only the Malfoy house elves could make taste quite like _that_. There had been none of those last year.

He cast an _impervius_ over himself to keep the swirling flurries of snow from settling directly on him and approaching a fork in the path, took the left and stopped in his tracks. There it was, a tree, no, _the _tree, and it looked as if it had come right out of a Christmas card, branches glimmering under their light dusting of settled snow. Draco smirked to himself, sized it up, yes it would fit perfectly, and set out towards it, feet slipping slightly in the quickly gathering snow. Pausing in front of it with his wand drawn, he changed his mind, shook his head slightly and dipped down, searching in the snow for, oh yes, there. He pulled out a large rock and shaking the snow from both it and his glove, transfigured it into an axe. Placing his wand carefully back into the sleeve of his robes he levelled the axe, testing out its weight. He'd never done this before, but how hard could it be, really?

Ten minutes later, and only halfway through the trunk, his arms ached slightly, sweat was pouring from him and he had his answer. It was _difficult_! But he was determined to finish what he had started. So undeterred, he loosened his scarf and used the end to wipe at his forehead. Swinging the axe into the resistance of the thick wood really was quite satisfying, and he wasn't nearly as dismayed at the gratification of doing things the muggle way as he had thought he would be. In fact, in some ways, he was finding it really quite enjoyable. Still, he didn't think that was something he could admit out loud. Not yet anyway.

He took another swing, grunting with the effort, and the wood split apart with a loud cracking sound, and then it creaked. Draco's eyes widened as he realised what was about to happen, and sprang out of the way as the tree slowly leant towards him and then crashed to the woodland floor. He felt like pumping his fist in celebration, but then reasoned that it would be a stupid thing to do and allowed himself a smile instead. Transfiguring the axe back into its previous form he dropped it back to the ground, then gripped the trunk firmly with both hands. Still smiling, he apparated it back to the cottage.

oOoOo

Draco's perfect tree was standing proudly in the corner of the living room, the fireplace merrily crackling away to its left. At first, he had attempted to set it in the stand by hand, but after grappling with it for about five minutes and making no headway apart from trapping a finger painfully in the folding mechanism and acquiring a couple of splinters, he impatiently flicked his wand in a huff and it was done. His mother had vanished the melting snow and dried the carpet whilst Coby plucked the offending slivers of wood from Draco's fingertips.

Now, with an elated smile on her face, Narcissa began to conjure delicate little glass balls with tiny fireflies shimmering within, blinking in and out of their silvery existence over and over. As she brought them into existence and Draco carefully levitated them onto the tree he started to see how families enjoyed doing this together and saw it as a tradition. Whilst he may never be able to give up house elves completely, in that moment he vowed that tree decoration would be a Malfoy Christmas tradition from now on, his father be damned. Together they added more and more delicately conjured and transfigured ornaments until the tree was sparkling all over, reflecting the flames from the fireplace out across the room.

Finally, Narcissa conjured a large glass star and Draco cast a bluebell flame charm into it and floated it up to rest gently at the top of the tree. They stood back to admire their work and Narcissa clapped her hands delightedly.

"Do you know, I haven't decorated a tree since I was a little girl." She said wistfully. "Andromeda and I used to sneak down and persuade the house elves to let us help. Then she left and it wasn't the same without her, so I stopped." Draco didn't know what to say, he'd not had anyone to sneak around with as a child, and had certainly never thought of helping the house elves with anything, not even Christmas decorations. He was saved by his mother speaking again. "Oh, I'd completely forgotten." And she hurried from the room into the study next door. Draco heard a couple of drawers pulled open and then a small gasp. She returned holding out two small, misshapen silver stars.

"What are they?" Draco asked, taking one from her and turning it over. His mother tapped it with her wand and '_Cissy_' appeared in green childish writing. She tapped the one she was still holding and showed it to him; it read '_Dromeda_'.

"Decorations the elves helped us make the first year we snuck down. We would hide them at the back of the tree every year after that." She smiled down at the one in her hand. "No one ever knew they were there. I found them when we were clearing out the manor. I'd forgotten I still had them." Draco handed the one he held back to her and gestured to the tree. Her smile widened as she hung them by hand, pride of place near to the top and right at the front of the tree.

oOoOo

Late on Christmas Eve, Pansy showed up at the cottage.

"What are you doing here?" Draco said in surprise as he opened the door to her.

"Merry Christmas to you too. And don't be silly, Draco dear." She said, pushing her way inside. "We _always_ see each other on Christmas Eve, ever since we were little." She didn't acknowledge that her statement omitted the previous year, and Draco suddenly felt grateful for that as well as her unwavering friendship, and he was actually quite glad that she had turned up. He was getting quite used to the feeling of gratitude; it had seemed to reside within him almost permanently ever since he had been released from Ministry custody.

"Merry Christmas, Pansy." Hearing the genuine affection in his voice she stopped struggling with her boots to look at him. If she was startled by his outward demonstration of emotion she didn't show it, instead returning to the task of removing her footwear.

"Nice wreath by the way." Draco glanced at it, registering at the same time that in his confusion at Pansy's appearance and his unusual display of feelings he had completely neglected to shut the front door. He pushed it with a little more force than necessary and winced when it slammed home; setting the little bells nestled in the wreath jingling with gleeful abandon.

"Yes, well, it would appear that Coby got a bit over excited with his task." The wreath really was a horrendous amalgamation of all things Christmas, stuffed into one small ring of sparkling frivolity. "It was initially also charmed to play Jingle Bells, but my mother disabled that when the elf wasn't looking." Pansy snickered and took a seat on the cream sofa opposite the fireplace, glancing around the room.

The living room was the first room that Narcissa had decorated. She had chosen light, earthy browns and rich creams. Accents of green ran through it in the form of objects like cushions and lampshades, but they were fresh, spring coloured greens instead of the Slytherin green that had dominated the manor.

"It's nice here." Pansy said, curling her feet underneath her and cuddling a particularly fluffy cushion to herself. Draco nodded, hearing the words that she hadn't uttered, 'it's nicer than the manor'. It already felt like more of a home than the manor ever had, or ever could. As he turned to pluck a candy cane from the tree, his mother appeared in the doorway.

"Ah, Pansy darling. I thought I'd heard voices, how lovely to see you. Merry Christmas." She was smiling warmly. Even though smiles and laughter were becoming a more common occurrence in Draco's life, he still wasn't used to the sight of such a happy expression on his mother's face, and it drew an answering smile to his own.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Malfoy." Pansy rose to kiss his mother's cheek.

"Oh, do call me Narcissa, dear. I do feel we've known each other long enough now." It was true, the Malfoys and the Parkinsons had run in the same social circles for generations, and Pansy had been in Draco's life from when they were both knee high to a lacewing. "Are you staying for tea? I do believe Coby has just taken some gingerbread out of the oven."

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you." If Pansy was thrown by his mother's warmth, she had enough social grace to conceal it. Coby appeared almost immediately without being summoned, levitating a tray of tea and rather large plate of said gingerbread biscuits next to him as if he had been anticipating it. He was beside himself with excitement at having a guest to serve and please, bowing low as he poured the steaming amber liquid into Pansy's teacup. Abandoning all formality Pansy giggled delightedly as the elf bowed to her again and patted its head. Coby grinned, showing every one of his crooked teeth and disapparated with a crack back into the kitchen, mumbling embarrassedly about having to see to the baking.

As Pansy and his mother had settled onto the sofa Draco took the armchair, gracefully extending his long legs over the arm. Such behaviour would never have been tolerated before, but his mother didn't bat an eyelid, instead attending to stirring a teaspoon of honey into her tea. All awkwardness had completely lifted from the room and Pansy, holding her cup in both hands chattered away brightly in answer to Narcissa's questions about her parents' health and plans for the holidays. When the subject changed to the Hogwarts reconstruction, and subsequently the option their year group had been given to return for an eighth year, Draco started to feel uncomfortable, a vague sensation of unease settling in his stomach with every sip of his tea.

"Draco?" His mother turned to him, expression inscrutable. "Why didn't you tell me that you'd received an invitation to complete your education?" He glanced at Pansy who gave her shoulders a tiny lift and mouthed 'sorry' at him. Resisting the urge to sigh Draco quickly searched his brain for a response but came up short. "So you're not intending to return?" Narcissa enquired softly.

"No! Yes, I, I don't know." Draco replied quietly. Narcissa turned to Pansy.

"I take it that you will be going back next September, Pansy?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy." Pansy returned to formalities in her anxiety at having inadvertently landed Draco in this situation. Eager to try and rectify her mistake she rushed on, admitting; "It, it wasn't an easy decision, and I almost threw the letter straight out when I received it. But I, I thought about it for a week or so, and decided that given the current climate, if I achieved my N.E.W.T.s then I would have a better chance at starting a career that I actually want, despite my, ah, social situation." Draco gave the girl credit for choosing her words that delicately. Her parents' may never have been Death Eaters, but it was well known that they had moved in the same circles as some of his most vehement followers. She would have just as hard a time as he would in trying to claw back some prestige in the Wizarding community and gaining enough trust from prospective employers to be given opportunities.

"I see." Narcissa brought her steady gaze back to Draco. He knew that whilst she might not push him too hard in front of company, she would definitely have some things to say on the matter.

"Well, I guess all I can do, is advise that it would be in your best interests to have a completed education, Draco. But I think you know that already. We've been incredibly lucky in regards to our future so far, I wouldn't want to see that laid to waste." Draco nodded curtly. He knew that. He knew that with his family's ties to the Dark Lord getting an apprenticeship or placement on a training scheme would be next to impossible at the moment, even if his name had been cleared at the end of his trial. If he really was serious about realising his secret aspirations he would have to obtain his N.E.W.T.s. And they would have to be of the highest grade as well. Yes, he had gone back to Hogwarts for the restoration, and played a very active role in restoring the building to its former glory. But he hadn't set even so much as a toe inside. He was worried, hell, he was fucking terrified of all the memories that would conjure. That there would be more than the literal ghosts that inhabited the castle lurking in every shadow of his steps.

He came back to the present to find that his mother had moved the discussion on, and was thankful that aside from a couple of worried glances his way that she let the subject rest. For now at least. He realised that as much as he loved his mother and had come to greatly value her opinion over the past few weeks, this was something he would need to figure out on his own.

Shortly after that conversation, Narcissa excused herself and withdrew to bed. Pansy patted the sofa beside her. Draco hesitated, and then settled into the empty space. She drew his head into her lap and threaded her fingers through his pale hair, much like they had done on many occasions at Hogwarts.

"It'll be okay, you know." She whispered. "If you go back.. It'll be okay." Draco closed his eyes at the surge of emotions her words produced in him. "Just promise me you'll think seriously about it, Draco. Okay?" He nodded once, the subject was dropped and the two of them lapsed into the kind of comfortable silence that years of friendship cultivates, just existing together, listening to the quiet pop and crackle of the flames licking the wood in the fireplace.

Draco didn't know how long he spent lying there, watching the flames jumping and playing over the logs, casting long flickering shadows about the room. Despite bearing witness to some very advanced and fascinating magic throughout the years, there was something about fire that never failed to enchant him. Suddenly Pansy twitched.

"Oh. Must've drifted off. 'Time 's'it?" She mumbled.

"Late." Draco replied sitting up. He flicked his wand to summon Pansy's boots. She struggled with them again, possibly more so now her body was heavy with the threat of sleep. Draco watched her amusedly, and at the front door, allowed himself to be drawn into a tight hug.

"Oh, I almost didn't remember. Here." Pansy turned, halfway through the door, and produced a small, immaculately wrapped box from her pocket. "Merry Christmas, Draco." He took the box, cheeks colouring slightly.

"Pansy, I completely forgot.."

"Hush, hush." She interrupted him. "I'd guessed you would have. Not to worry, we can meet in Diagon Alley on New Year's Eve and you can get me something then." She smiled, her eyes alight with mischief. Knowing Pansy, she probably already had something picked out, and Draco guessed that it would be an expensive something. She started towards the front gate, where the wards ended and she would be able to apparate.

"Pansy." Draco called. "Thank you." The words implied more, and they both knew it. She smiled, and with a loud crack splitting the air where she had been standing, she was gone.

oOoOo

Draco lay in bed, fresh cup of tea forgotten on his nightstand. As hard as he tried, he couldn't concentrate on the pages before him. It didn't help that Shakespearean English took a lot more attention than the average text, but still. Draco couldn't shake the restlessness and anxiety over the decision he had yet to make. He had promised Pansy that he'd think about it, well hell. If he couldn't sleep, and wasn't able to read, he supposed he should just reason it out with himself now.

Sighing, he shoved his covers off himself roughly. Snatching up his teacup and the parchment that had been lying on his chest of drawers, silently mocking him for days now, he padded soundlessly out of his room and down the hall to the nook. Settling himself in the window seat he balanced his cup rather precariously on his knee and stared down at the reply sheet, brow furrowed. Could he actually go back? The hell of his sixth year burned more brightly in his memory than all of his others combined. He tried to remember the more pleasant times but kept circling back to the despair he had been drowning in, experiencing it all again.

Huffing he threw the paper away from himself, watching it flutter slowly to the floor and then switched his gaze to the window. Snow twirled to the ground outside as gently as the paper had made its way to the carpet. Far away, the moonlight slipped and twisted over the tumbling waves and Draco suddenly felt seized by the compulsion to apparate himself straight into the sea and allow his body to be amidst a physical turmoil to match his mind.

Shaking off that thought, his mind apparently saw fit to replace it with fragments of his conversation with Potter that day at the lake.

_'I was just wondering, if, whether or not, you'd be coming back?'_

_'I am, so, _so_, sorry.'_

_'You look, different when you smile.'_

_'I'd like to start over.'_

Bugger it all to hell. As he leant over and grabbed the parchment from the floor he tried to tell himself that he wasn't going back to find out what it would be like to be friends with Harry bloody Potter. He was going back for himself. For his future. But then maybe, just maybe, it was one and the same, the boy seemed determined to be a permanent annoyance in it anyway.

The form didn't take very long to fill out; he knew exactly what subjects he would need to study. He lingered briefly over Magical Medicine, the new subject eighth years were being offered if enough people wanted to study it, before indicating his interest in it. It would mean an almost impossibly high workload, but keeping himself busy would probably be an advantage. Steeling himself, he shoved the window open and called to his owl. If he didn't send it straight away, he didn't know whether this new found resolve would still be around in the morning. His eagle owl Aquila soared up to the window and regarded him imperiously, stretching out her great wings.

"Yes, yes. It's been a while, I know." He said fondly, running a finger along her wingspan. She nipped lightly at him and lifted a foot impatiently. Giving in, he attached his response to her leg. He sat and watched her soar away until she disappeared. He closed the window slowly and rested his forehead on the cool glass. Well, for better or worse, it was done now.


	10. Rescues and Resolve

**A/N** - I'm so sorry that's its taken me so long to update.. I haven't forgotten, honest! I've been moving and switching jobs etc etc. But, here is the latest chapter! And thank you so, so much to all my readers and especially my wonderful reviewers! Please please keep reviewing and stoking that fire under my arse to get me writing more and updating faster! So, REVIEW! And without further ado onto the fic..

* * *

The days, weeks, no.. the months were slipping by altogether too fast for Draco. Winter snow had long since melted into spring, and the world had leapt to life around him. Now spring was on the cusp of summer, and Draco felt like time was running out, like he was watching his life whilst trapped in an hourglass. The thick glass impenetrable and trying to look through it skewed and dipped his vision, the sand that had once been a gritty annoyance around his feet now slipping over his shoulders to pin his arms by his sides. Every time the thought of returning to Hogwarts ambushed his mind he felt as if it brought that solidified sandy panic with it that slithered and shimmered its way into his mouth, filling his lungs and expanding in his throat.

This time was no exception. The thoughts had snuck up on him as he was standing in the shower, forearms and top of his head braced against the cool tiles creating such a pleasurable contrast with the warm spray of water cascading over his back. Now it felt like the tendrils of steam were choking him and bile rose up in his throat. Stumbling out of the shower he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, gasping and retching. He didn't know whether it was better or worse that his stomach was empty and therefore there was nothing to bring up. His magic flared out around him and on the peripheral of his consciousness he faintly registered the shattering of one of his favourite crystal phials sitting on the windowsill, but he didn't care right now. He curled in on himself in a pitiful pile of soggy existence and clenched his fists, the dull pain of his nails biting into his palms clearing his head slightly. He didn't know if he lay there for minutes or hours, forcing himself to breathe, the water cooling then hardening on his skin but finally the grip on his chest began to loosen and he sat upright, stealing quick, shallow little gasps of precious air and pulling a towel from the rail to wrap about himself. How was he going to do this?

oOoOo

In the midst of the crowds in Diagon Alley Draco felt like the only thing holding him up was Pansy's arm fixed securely through his own. He had put it off for as long as he could, but with the start of term only a week away, Pansy had insisted it was time to get their school supplies and Draco was out of excuses. She walked briskly, her snub nose stuck up in the air. For such a short little witch she was exuding presence today, Draco eyed her appraisingly. He didn't know how she was doing it. His own confidence was shattered; fear shadowed his every step, especially out in public like this. He forced himself to match Pansy's demeanour though, taking a small comfort in the knowledge that his appearance was immaculate; thanks to a glamour or two here and there to hide things like the dark circles under his eyes. To anybody else, it would seem there was nothing different between Draco and Pansy at all. But Draco knew better. He knew that his legs were shaking with every step, that the difference was that Pansy's confidence was real and his was, well, not. They only had to get their books from Flourish and Blotts now though, and he could leave and get back to the relative safety of his home, where only his own mind was a threat.

The moment Pansy let go of his arm with a squeal and ran over the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium to coo at the tiny fluffy chicks in the window Draco felt the mood of the crowd shift. They had been on the receiving end of hate filled glares, and muttered but uncast curses all afternoon. Together they had presented a united front, separated they were as good as defenceless; nothing more than easy targets. Especially him. His blond hair shining in the sunlight marked him unmistakably as a Malfoy. A supporter of the Dark Lord. A Death Eater. Even if he had not been convicted by the Wizengamot, he knew he had been by the majority of the public.

"Pansy." He heard the tremor in his voice as he called out and hated himself for it. As Pansy turned back towards him the smile dropped from her face as the crowd pressed in towards them, separating them further with faces twisted in expressions of open loathing. He was pushed backwards, then flung forwards by the wizard he fell into.

"Don't touch me, scum."

"How dare you show your face."

He could see Pansy pressed up against the window, a wand pressed to her throat. Her lips were moving and although he could no longer hear anything except the taunts and threats all around him he knew she was screaming his name. He finally lost his footing on the cobbled street and went sprawling to his knees. A hex cut open his cheek then his eyebrow in quick succession and as his hands flew reflexively up to his face someone bound them behind his back with an incancerous.

He stared down at the blood gathering into a small pool in front of him as it dripped from his face. Another hex hit his hipbone, sending a ripple of agony down his leg. He clamped his mouth shut; he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing his pain. A searing heat flaring up in his shoulder had him biting down hard on his lip, causing yet more blood to flow from him. So this was it then, he needn't have spent all that time worrying about going back to Hogwarts after all.

"Stop!" The clear voice went ringing through his ears, cutting through the noise of the throng. A couple of witches, one very elderly, stepped in front of him, the younger one casting a shield charm over him. He raised his head and blinked the blood from his eyes. He vaguely recognised them from the reconstruction at Hogwarts, but he had never spoken to them.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves. He's just a child!" The old witch spat out.

"He's a Death Eater." Someone hissed.

"He was never convicted. His name was cleared, or have you all forgotten about that? And come to think of it, I don't remember seeing a single one of you at the Hogwarts reconstruction, like he was." A few people had the grace to look chagrined at her words. "Frankly, I am disgusted to witness a scene like this in the streets of Diagon Alley. In this world some of us fought so hard to bring peace back to. You're all a disgrace to the Wizarding community." Draco was shocked that someone he didn't even know would speak out for him like this, protect him like this. People started to disperse, though it was more than likely they had started to worry about Aurors turning up as the angry mutterings hadn't stopped completely. Someone spat at him, but it didn't get near him as the shield charm was still in place.

One of his rescuers released his wrists and he swayed forward onto his hands and knees.

"Pansy!" He cried as his head snapped up, eyes searching, but she wasn't where she was before.

"She's alright, boy." The elderly witch had stooped down beside him, and her blue eyes were twinkling as she grasped his chin in one of her bony weathered hands and healed his cuts with a quick episkey.

"I, thank you." He muttered awkwardly, standing and grimacing as more pain shot down his hexed leg, and then helping her back to her feet.

"Draco!" Pansy shrieked, and then he could see her again, emerging from where the mob was scattering. She was shaking like a leaf, and being supported by someone.. Oh, of course. Harry Potter. Popping up again just when Draco least wanted him to. She practically threw herself into Draco's arms and he realised that he was shaking too. Harry just stood a little awkwardly to the side, managing to keep his mouth shut for once. As Pansy looked back at Harry, Draco becomes aware that the boy has a small jagged cut running dangerously close to his right eye.

"Harry?" Pansy's voice is tiny, but it doesn't wobble. "I can't even.." She trails off. "Thank you." And she lets go of Draco to give him a small awkward hug, then her hand is back on Draco's arm and she is whispering in his ear about taking him home. Before Harry can even reply the swirl of apparition was tugging behind his nave and Draco realises that Harry must have stepped in front of a curse meant for Pansy. Shocked, the last thing Draco saw was Harry stooping to the ground to pick something up.

oOoOo

His mother was in the garden bent low over one of her rose bushes when they appeared. She straightens, a wide smile curving her lips, but her words of welcome died on her lips and the colour drained from her face as she took them in. Draco knew he was covered in dried blood and his robes are ripped and dirty. When his mother drops rushes to his side and gathers him in her arms it took everything he had to not break down in tears.

"Oh, Draco, my darling. Pansy! What happened?" She had gathered Pansy protectively in to her as well and held them both tightly. Draco could still feel himself shaking and didn't trust that the tears he was fighting so hard to contain wouldn't spill over if he opened his mouth, so he allowed Pansy to tell his mother everything as together they pulled him into the living room.

He sat numbly on the sofa and drank the overly sweet tea Coby brought in to them without a word of complaint, though normally he wouldn't put any sugar or honey in his tea, and in his panic, the little elf seemed to have done both. When his mother gently suggested he go and clean himself up, he rose and left the room silently. As he stepped into the steam of the hot shower he realised that it was not the horror of what had happened that was shaking him up, it was that he had believed that the mob would kill him, and for a moment, he had wanted them to. It was only once he had washed his hair and scrubbed his body clean and was sitting dressed in fresh clothes that he pressed his fist against his mouth and allowed the tears to spill hotly down his cheeks.

He didn't really want to die, did he? It was just a heat of the moment thing, surely. Definitely. He thought of his mother, the look of dismay spread across her face when he had arrived back from Diagon Alley. He couldn't, wouldn't leave her to fend for herself against people like those who had attacked him today. Like it or not, there would always be people like that. He thought of Pansy, his over confident, loud, abrasive, gossipy, loyal, wonderful best friend. His only friend. Well, maybe that wasn't true. Harry wanted to start over, to start a friendship. He kept showing up in Draco's life whether he liked it or not. And maybe, just maybe he _was_ starting to like it. After all, he had been so desperate to be Harry's friend when they had been eleven years old, and through all the hurt and anger, that desire had never disappeared.

Slowly, the sobs silently wracking his body subsided. Surprised, he found that he felt better, like the months of tension and pent up emotion had found their way from his body and mind through his tears leaving only a feeling of resolve. A determination to remake the Malfoy name; not into what it had been before, but something new. Something, _good_. Maybe even something that wasn't feared as it had been with his father, but respected. With this new feeling coursing through his veins he went back into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. He raised his eyes to survey himself in the mirror before returning downstairs. Yes, he could, do this. He had to.

oOoOo

His mother had insisted that Pansy stay for dinner, and Draco was glad of her company. It just served to further reinforce what he had decided to fight for; his future, his family. And Pansy was as much his family as much as his mother. She had kissed him on both cheeks when she left and firmly told him that she would see him next week when they would apparate to Hogsmeade together. The returning eighth years would be arriving two days earlier than the rest of the school. Draco was glad that he would be spared the Hogwarts Express and be able to get used to being there again without the threats and insults that would undoubtedly arrive with the rest of the students.

His mother had watched him anxiously at the start of the meal but had soon relaxed. Maybe she could sense the change in his demeanour, or even see the resolve that now curled in his mind and Draco was glad of it. He didn't want her to be worrying about him anymore; she'd done enough of that when Voldemort had first returned and nearly had a breakdown when he had been given his mission in sixth year and been initiated.

He was sitting in the nook, immersed in trying to understand the Merchant of Venice when an owl swooped in through the open window, ripping a few hairs from his head in the process. Scowling and smoothing down his hair he regarded the creature now perched on the bookshelf carefully, knowing exactly who had sent it and not feeling nearly as annoyed by it as he should have been.

"Caelum." Draco acknowledged and held his arm out slowly. The owl blinked its large amber eyes, considering him for a moment and then flapped down, giving his wrist a sharp peck for good measure. "With your disposition you could be mistaken for a Malfoy owl." He muttered, grabbing the parchment swiftly away from the sharp beak darting towards him again. Not one to miss an opportunity, Caelum dug his talons reproachfully into Draco's arm before sweeping off back into the night, his black feathers allowing him to disappear quickly from sight. Not waiting for a reply then. Curiosity getting the better of him he uncurled the small note.

_'Malfoy,_

_I hope that you and Pansy are both okay after this afternoon. Please tell her that she doesn't need to thank me for anything. _

_I just wanted to let you know that I picked up the books you guys needed. You dropped your list and they were the only things not crossed off. I had them sent straight to Hogwarts. But don't worry, you don't owe me anything, I had the manager charge your Gringotts accounts directly._

_See you next week,_

_Harry.'_

Draco shook his head. Only Harry bloody Potter could waltz into a shop and have items charged to someone else's bloody account. But the strange thing was, he wasn't angry, or even annoyed. Okay, maybe he was a little bit annoyed. But more so, he was, pleased that someone had done that for him. No, he corrected himself, not just someone. He was pleased that Harry had done it for him. Maybe, if Harry really was on his side, things really were going to be okay after all.


End file.
